


The Key That Breaks the Lock

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst, Episode: s01e07 Night School, Ghosts, Other, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Swearing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 128,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6784624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the seventh episode of the first season, "Night School", Scott McCall prevents himself from slaughtering his friends at Peter Hale's command by snapping the key off in the lock of the chemistry room door.  This story is what might have happened if he had failed to shake off Peter's command.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> I have always been fascinated by 'what if' stories. I chose this particular one because it seemed to me such a crucial event. Everything that happened in the series from this point would have been so radically different if Scott hadn't been able to resist Peter's command in the school. 
> 
> I politely request all the constructive criticism that can be mustered, even grammatical criticism. I have proofed the work several times, but since I keep finding errors, I know that there must be more in there.
> 
> I would like to note that Scott is my favorite character, but as the central protagonist, he bears the burden of the crucial actions. I don't see how, given the event I changed, he could have escaped without serious damage.

PETER HALE:

Peter knew his own weaknesses, which was something in which he took a great deal of pride. He had a flair for the dramatic. He had a taste for overcomplicating simple things. He was also, he had to admit, a bit of a sadist. But most importantly, he lacked patience.

Peter could trace these weaknesses to his personality before the fire. He had been, he admitted even now, a pretentious know-it-all, a smug schemer, and a bully. He supposed it could have been the fact that he knew from a very young age that he would always play a secondary role in the family. He was never going to be Alpha. Even after he had grown into his role within the pack, he had not really overcome the resentment at always being number two, but in its own way, he believed, it made him better at what he did. 

Of course, then had come the fire and six years of living hell. And he knew he was blaming so much on the coma, and he would blame so much on the coma in the future, that people probably would get sick of hearing about it. Just because he might use it as an excuse too often, however, didn’t make it less true. He had waited so long – not just in pain but bored, bored, bored – that he wanted his vengeance and his new life to be exciting and he wanted it now. 

Take the present night’s activities, for example. What he should have done, if he were practical about it, would be to snatch his poor ignorant beta off the street and then cajole or beat him into submission. It would have been the best thing for everyone really, but it would have been so boring. So, when the beta had challenged him at the deserted high school, he decided to have a little fun. After incapacitating his nephew, he chased his beta and his best friend around the school until they were satisfyingly terrified, summoned their ‘friends,’ including the Argent girl, and then commanded his beta kill them. If the beta succeeded, he’d definitely be more pliable. Of course, Peter was quite aware that this plan put all his weaknesses on display: drama, overcomplication, and sadism. 

But this time, at least, he had been patient. After delivering his command in the gymnasium, he decided to follow the beta to make sure the command was actually carried out, instead of running off to who knows where to do who knows what. It had paid off, for as the beta – he really should learn the kid’s name – approached the chemistry classroom where his friends were hiding, Peter could sense that the boy was struggling with the command. He was resisting it, which made the alpha both frustrated and happy at the same time. If this kid, who had been a beta for only a few weeks and had no real training whatsoever, could resist his command, it meant that buried somewhere below the weird jaw was some mettle. But, Peter wouldn’t let that possibility deflect from his fun. As the kid put the key into the lock, Peter growled at him from down the hall, reinforcing the earlier command. 

Now, it was all over but the screaming. Peter smiled to himself, letting his senses open to the flood of sound and scent and pain. To his surprise, he heard in one of the girl’s screams a specific timbre, which held a promise of greater things to come. Very few werewolves other than him could have sensed it, as he had always been more interested in the more esoteric aspects of the world. He could be wrong, he supposed, but he was never one to let an opportunity go to waste. Gathering as much speed as he could muster, he slipped into room – there was an impressive amount of blood already – and snatched the screaming girl out before she could be seriously damaged. He deposited her safely outside of the school before she could even fully comprehend what was happening.

Still moving as fast as he could, Peter retreated to the Preserve. The police would be arriving soon, and maybe the kid could kill a couple of them as well before escaping into the woods. After this, the boy wouldn’t have anywhere to go. The night had been very, very profitable. 

Once in human form, he said to himself. “What do you know, patience is a virtue.”

 

VICTORIA ARGENT:

Victoria attacked the cucumber with a knife like it was an enemy, until it lay supine and piecemeal before her on the cutting board. She forced herself to calm down; allowing anger to spin out of control would not solve anything. She had dinner to make. Even if her daughter was lying mauled in the hospital, she had dinner to make. 

What many people didn’t realize about her was that she much preferred to pursue her domestic duties than almost anything else. She found the discipline of keeping a clean house relaxing; she found it beautiful. If suddenly her family was not involved in the Argent business, she would have been perfectly happy being a housewife. She did not think that this made her any less strong.

But they were still involved in it. She wanted this dinner to be ready when Chris came home from work; it would be a real dinner, a piece of normalcy, before they went to the hospital for Allison. They had their men watch during the day, but she and her husband personally watched over the hurt children at night, when the alpha was most likely to make his move. Kate would take the early morning shift. 

As she finished the salad, the phone rang. She insisted on having a land line in the kitchen, because she had grown up with one and she secretly hated the modern smart phones and their oppressive ubiquity. She cleaned her hands with a pretty floral dish towel before picking up. It could have been the police, or the school, or any one of their relatives. She hoped it wasn’t Gerard. She hid it as well as she could, but she didn’t like Chris’s father at all. She knew he resented her authority and worked to undermine the traditional system any time he could.

“Hello? Argent residence.” She schooled her voice into one that a mother who had a daughter in the hospital would have: slightly tremulous and fearful. Appearances were important. 

At first, she thought that there was no one on the line, possibly a crank call, but then there was a whispered, pained voice. “Is Allison okay?” 

Victoria took a deep breath. She recognized this voice; it was Scott McCall, the beta who had hurt her daughter. She suppressed the urge to scream at him or to say things that she knew would hurt him. It was best to approach the situation clinically and unemotionally. Her goal here would be to discover who the alpha was.

“No, she’s not okay, Scott. She’s in the hospital; you hurt her very badly.” 

There was the sound on the other end of the line, the marriage of a choke and a sob. Victoria felt sorry for the boy for a brief moment, but she also understood that it was just an example of the truth she had learned long ago. This is what they did. 

“Scott, you killed someone and you put two other people in the hospital. You know what the alpha is turning you into.”

She could hear his breathing on the other end of the phone; it was ragged and painful. She imagined he was crying. “Are you going to kill me?”

Victoria thought carefully during her pause about what she was going to say. “Yes, we are. But you can stop the alpha from doing this to anyone else. Tell me who it is.”

Suddenly there was a sound on the other side of the phone, a door being flung open. She also heard a clatter as if Scott had quickly put down the phone, but he had not hung up the call. She held her breath and listened across the open line. An alpha might be sharp enough to hear her breathe even over an open phone line.

“Who were you talking to, Scott?” It was a man’s voice. Already she knew more than she did.

“No one.” Scott’s voice was subdued and frightened, but he did not mention the phone. 

From the other side she heard a roaring growl, a struggle and the unmistakable sound of bone breaking with an accompanying a scream of pain. Victoria thought it was probably an arm. “What did I say about defiance, Scott? I told you it has consequences. Shall I make you kill your mother next? That would be a pity; she’s a charming woman.”

“No, Peter, please. I won’t do it again.” 

Peter Hale. Scott must have known she was listening. On the other side of the phone, there was the snap of another bone and another scream. “While those heal, you should contemplate that this is the least of what I can do to you. You should be loyal to your alpha.” 

Victoria hung up the phone before the alpha could notice the phone was on. If they were lucky, Scott could call back when he healed and let them know where they were. She immediately dialed Chris with the news of the Alpha’s identity. They’d have to get men watching Melissa McCall right away, just in case Peter Hale carried through with his threat.

Dinner could wait; there was more important work to be done.

 

SHERIFF STILINSKI:

The sheriff stared at the white linoleum floor of the hospital waiting room; he tried to trace the wear patterns in it and the effort was making him light headed. He was trying to distract himself from what he had to consider tonight the second worse day of his life. The doctor had just finished explaining the present situation and was waiting for his approval on their plan. “Sheriff, you can take a few hours to think this over, but the longer we wait, the greater the chance for serious complications.”

“Yes.” He said, heavily, squeezing the arm rests of the chair as if they were at fault. “If it is the best chance for him to live, you have to do it.” He had to force himself to say the words, because it would make the consequences of the decision his responsibility. “Take the leg.”

The sheriff hoped his son wouldn’t hate him too much for the decision to cripple him. No, that wasn’t the right word; good people didn’t use that word any more, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of another. The world spun around him; the florescent lights made him sick. He closed his eyes. He hoped he could go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and all of this would have been a terrible dream. 

It made no sense. Jackson Whittemore was dead, ripped apart by what every bit of forensic evidence they could gather indicated was Scott McCall, if Scott suddenly was as strong as a bear and had two-inch claws. Allison Argent had been mauled in the face, and his son nearly had his right leg torn off. It just made no goddamn sense.

Of course, the day was going to keep getting worse. Soon, he had to force himself out of this seat, drive to Melissa’s and tell the woman that had helped him survive the death of his own wife that her son was wanted for two counts of second-degree murder (if you counted the janitor, and they were) and three counts of attempted murder. Allison Argent refused to give a statement, Stiles was in and out of consciousness too quickly and too often to give a statement, but Lydia Martin, apparently unharmed, had given a coherent statement that was just a step short of fantasy. While that statement would not hold up under any cross examination in court, coupled with the strange forensics, it was enough for a warrant.

“What the fuck do I say? I can’t even find him.” He told no one in particular.

It was true. Scott had simply vanished after that night at the school. For two days, none of his friends had seen him; none of his teachers had seen him, not even the veterinarian who had been like a father to the boy. Part of him was relieved; this part of him hoped Scott had fled the county and out of his jurisdiction. Let it be, just once, someone else’s problem.

“Sheriff?” It was Chris Argent, tired but determined, who had somehow managed to appear before him without John sensing his approach. Tonight just kept getting better; now he would have to deal with another grieving and possibly angry parent.

“I’m off duty, Mr. Argent. If you have need for an officer, you’ll need to go down to the station, or there may be some on-duty officers down front.” He knew that there were at least two officers on duty here at the hospital just in case Scott tried to get to the people he didn’t kill. Jesus Christ.

“That’s okay, Sheriff. I am actually here to talk to you, as a father, not as the sheriff. Call me Chris.”

“John.” He offered to shake the man’s hand. “What can I do for you, Chris?” 

“I need to talk to your son. I need to know something that I think only he can tell me. I know he’s not in good shape, but it is very important.” The man was trying to radiate honesty and conviction. “This is for the safety of my daughter, your son, and a lot of other people.”

“You know more than you’ve told the police.” You know more than you’ve told me.

“I do. I could tell you more, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

The sheriff prided himself on a good judge of character. He looked Chris Argent right in the face, watched his eyes, the set of his jaw. “All right. But after we talk to Stiles, you are going to tell me everything and anything I want to know, and you’ll let me decide what I believe or not.”

“I will talk only to Stiles’ father, not to the sheriff. After that, I’ll deny everything to any police officer I talk to, and I have very good lawyers.”

John nodded acceptance to the conditions; he needed to know the truth. Once he knew that, he could find a way to get the evidence he needed to punish those response. Since no nurse was present, he let the man into his son’s room. He was sure he was not supposed to be in there, but he needed to understand what was happening, and if that meant breaking a few rules, he would do it. He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder and shook it as gently as he could. “Stiles please wake up.”

Stiles struggled to wakefulness, groggy with sleep and pain killers. His leg had been immobilized to minimize any damage he might unknowingly do it in his sleep. He twisted away from the restraint unconsciously and the pain caused by that movement brought him to a semblance of consciousness. “Hi, Dad. Hey.”

“Stiles, this is Chris Argent. I don’t know if you’ve met, he has a question for you, son, and I really need you to answer him.” 

Even in the haze of the drugs and the pain, Stiles thrashed around on the bed, seeking to escape. John held his son down so he didn’t hurt himself more. “No, Dad, no. No, he’ll . . . “

Chris stepped forward decisively. “Stiles, you know what happened; I know what happened. There’s nothing you can tell me that will change that, but the more information I have the more I can help him. And the alpha has him now.”

The sheriff saw terror pass over his son’s face. John wanted to demand what the hell that meant, but he knew when he had to be patient. “No.”

Chris leaned down to speak to him directly. “I need to know when he was bitten, Stiles. That’s all I need.”

Stiles swallowed and blinked, making it plain that loyalty was clashing with fear. “We were in the woods, looking for Laura. I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry . . . “

The sheriff shushed Stiles. “We’ll talk about that later, son, go back to sleep.” Maybe he should have told him about the coming operation, but he could not bear to do it. Not now.

Chris Argent stepped back rubbed his face, after the sheriff had explained to him when that meant. “Not even a damn month.” He waited patiently for the sheriff to let his son go back to sleep and he says. “Let me buy you a coffee. I have a lot to tell you.”

John chose a waiting area on the same floor for the conversation. By the end of it, the sheriff was holding his rapidly cooling coffee halfway to his mouth, with a face that scrunched up in confusion and disbelief. “So, let me get this straight. You are telling me that Scott, who is a werewolf, was forced by Peter Hale, who is also a werewolf, to kill a fellow student, a janitor, and try to kill three others, including my son and your daughter. Do you expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to believe the evidence. I expect you to believe your own experience. From what Allison has told me, you’ve known Scott for most of his life. I know that children change, but does this seem like something he would do to you? I also learned that his asthma’s disappeared and he’s suddenly a high school sports star. I haven’t seen the autopsy report on Whittemore and the janitor, but I can tell you that I have seen ones similar to what it must say before. I also know that if you check the long-term care facility, you will see that Peter Hale is missing. I went there myself and investigated.” Chris shook his head. “As much as you might not want to believe my story, it is the only thing that is going to fit the evidence you are going to find, because it is true.”

“And why do you know all this? How have you seen other autopsy reports?” The sheriff demands. 

“Because that is what we do. My family has hunted werewolves for centuries.”

John Stilinski felt like laughing in the man’s face, but then he put something together, and his brows kneaded together in accusation. “So, that’s why Stiles didn’t want to talk to you. You’re going to hunt Scott?”

“John.” The sheriff realized that Argent was using his first name to continue to convey honesty and sincerity. “As long as Peter Hale is out there, they are a pack. We cannot afford to treat him as a victim, and not another dangerous monster. Our hunters have families as well. By the code I live by, Scott became fair game the moment he spilled innocent blood -- innocent blood which includes my daughter’s.” He held up his hand for patience. “There are extenuating circumstances; he’s very young and he’s newly bitten. But those things can’t come into play until Hale is dealt with.” 

The sheriff calculated the reason behind this conversation. “And you want me to help you deal with Hale.”

Chris looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes. We don’t know what he’s planning. We don’t know his motivations. We don’t know his allies. An alpha – which is what Hale is – is dangerous to hunt. We can search the woods and the city looking for him, but, ultimately, this increases the chance that more innocent people will get hurt. If we can figure out what he plans to do, then we can anticipate his movements.”

The sheriff thought about it. He asked himself what he would do if any more people died, no matter who had killed them. He balanced this against what he knew he should do as a police officer and as a friend to Melissa. “Even though this is some vigilante bullshit, I am going to help you. Not because I approve, but because, right now, I don’t have any choice. I will do it for my son, who is going to lose his leg. I will do it for that Whittemore kid. I will do it for Scott, because he did not deserve any of this.” He points his finger at Chris. “If you promise me you’ll do everything you can not to kill that boy.” 

“The decision isn’t mine, but I’ll take it up with the person who does.” At the sheriff’s quizzical expression, Chris continued. “In our family, the women make the decisions. I’ll have to run it by my wife, Victoria.”

The sheriff chuckled grimly. He then threw his coffee away. “Have you talked to Derek Hale yet? He might know more about what his uncle is up to.”

“Funny you should bring that up, sheriff.” Chris offered a smile. “He’s not really amenable to talking to me at the moment.”

 

DEREK HALE:

Derek was having a difficult time being still, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. He was sitting in his car across from the McCall house, listening to Scott’s mother cry inside, and wondering why his return to Beacon Hills had gone from being a soul-crushing tragedy for him to a soul-crushing tragedy for everyone. 

The worst part remained the fact that he still felt like a victim in a horror movie, waiting for the next scare. He still did not know who the alpha was that had killed Laura. He still wasn’t totally convinced that it wasn’t Deaton, but the vet did not look good for it. If the alpha was strong enough to make Scott kill, then why would Deaton wait until that night in the school? Why wouldn’t he have finished Derek off when he was unconscious and bleeding? He could not make the pieces fit; Deaton had plenty of times to be alone with Scott long before then and no reason to spare Derek’s life at the school, especially after Derek had clubbed and kidnapped him.

Things were spinning out of control. Now the Argents would be after Scott as well as the alpha and they probably assumed that he was involved in this as well. He had run out of possible allies, and he could hear the consequences of his failure from within that house. Maybe he should just start the car, grab his uncle out of the hospital, and drive somewhere – anywhere – else.

“No,” he said out loud to the empty car. There was no way he is going to let Laura die and all these people get hurt or killed and then just walk away. He wasn’t going to hide any more. But his resolve didn’t mean he had the first clue what to do.

Derek was jolted out of his thoughts by the passing of a tinted-window SUV. He picked up the slightest scent of gunpowder as it parked maybe one hundred feet down the street from him. This vehicle had been driven by some of the Argent’s henchmen. It looks like they were going to case Scott’s house as well. He thought, seriously, about just beating the hell out of them, but he knew that would not do any good. He pulled away from the curb and started driving. Maybe he’ll figure something out by driving in circles around the town. 

Maybe he would visit the hospital, try to see what was happening with Stiles, Scott’s friend; though he could not imagine how that would go over. The teen would undoubtedly blame him for this mess, and Derek wasn’t sure he could argue that it wasn’t his fault.

Before he could make up his mind, police lights in his back window and a siren drew his attention. Rolling his eyes, he pulled over; he was pretty sure that this was not going to be about anything serious, and he couldn’t afford to run. If he had to hide from the alpha, the Argents, and the police, he might as well not be in this damn town. 

It was the sheriff. He frowned at the coincidence and rolled down his window. “Sheriff, is there a problem?”

“Mr. Hale, would you mind getting out of the car?” The sheriff did not seem any more hostile than any other police office would in a traffic stop. “I would like to talk to you, if I could.”

Derek looked at his options. The last time the sheriff had arrested him, he had been fair and professional. It could not hurt to see what he wanted to talk about. “I’m not under arrest, am I?” 

“Not yet.” The sheriff smiled and while it never reached his eyes, his hand went nowhere near his gun. “Come to my car, please?”

Derek followed. He wasn’t nervous; he knew he could get away if he absolutely had to. The sheriff opened up on the passenger side door, helping him in, and then got into the driver’s side.

John Stilinski slid in the seat, took one look at Derek, and then shrugged. “So. Werewolves.”

Derek had not been in the least bit ready for that and so gaped at the older man. “I … I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Save it, son. Yesterday, I gave the doctors permission to cut my son’s right leg off at the knee. I got a judge to order a warrant for his best friend’s arrest on murder and attempted murder. The only reason I know that you are a werewolf is because a professional werewolf hunter bought me coffee. I am about thirty seconds from going completely out of my skull, but I don’t have time for that luxury. And I have even less time for any lie you want to tell me.”

Derek stared at the sheriff. He was shocked, but he had to keep it off his face. He had no idea why Argent would reveal this to the police. Did the hunter feel bad about Stiles? He doubted it; he doubted a hunter could feel bad about anything. “You shouldn’t trust them.”

“I don’t trust them. I don’t trust you, either. But there are people dying in my town and I am absolutely sure that I don’t have what I need now to stop that. Now, Derek, do you know who the alpha is? The one that presently has my son’s best friend?”

Derek grimaced uncontrollably; this was terrible news no matter what his personal frustration with the kid. “Are you sure that the alpha has Scott?” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t know who it is. That’s what we were … what I am trying to find out.”

The sheriff studied him as if he was trying to figure out if Derek was telling the truth. “According to Chris Argent, it is your uncle. Peter Hale has been missing from the long-term care facility for forty-eight hours. And Victoria Argent supposedly received a phone call from Scott, confirming it.”

Derek said immediately and with full conviction. “That’s impossible. That would mean that Peter killed Laura, my sister and his niece. He would never do that.” It wasn’t just the fact that the information had come from the Argents that made him deny it. Peter would not have. He could not have.

“There is only way to be sure, and that is to find your uncle. Can you help me do that?” 

Derek did not think things could get any worse. “I can do that.”

 

PETER HALE:

Peter sat at the table in the kitchenette, reading the newspaper. He knew that Scott was sitting in the corner of the living room of the abandoned apartment, knees drawn up to his face and arms wrapped around them. He kept them moving every day to a different location: abandoned apartments and motels. It was amusing to him that his beta was more wanted than he was, but it was also allowing him more freedom of movement, even if he was a missing person. If worst came to worst, Scott would make an effective distraction for both the hunters and the police.

“Uh-oh, Scott, looks like your reputation is growing.” He affected a light worry. “They found a connection between you and the bus driver. Your charges might be going up to three murders now. Tsk. What do you teenagers call this? Kill stealing?”

The kid didn’t answer. 

If he wanted to be pissy, Peter would just give him something more to be upset about. “Oh, that’s unfortunate. It also says here that they cut your friend’s leg off yesterday morning. I guess that’s the end of being first line for him, isn’t it?” Actually, it said nothing like that in the paper. Jennifer had told him; she was a nurse, after all.

From the living room, there came a choking growl. 

“Don’t be so sour, Scott. The sooner you realize that your old life is over, the quicker you can move on to a new one.” He folds the paper up and puts it on the table. “Now, I am a busy man, and I have to go out and do some work. What are the rules?”

There was still no answer. 

“Do I have to break something else, Scott? Aren’t you tired of healing broken bones? What are the rules?” Peter was actually becoming worried about the amount of pain he was inflicting on the child. While injuries would heal, constant agony could be psychologically debilitating. He had probably gone overboard when he had discovered the phone and the call the boy had made. Well, spilt milk. 

In a tired voice, the kid says: “Don’t contact anyone. Don’t leave.” 

“Good. Do that, and everyone you care about keeps breathing, even if they aren’t walking.” This was an empty threat, as he knew by now that the police and the Argents would be watching everyone important to Scott. But his beta didn’t know that. “One day you’ll understand.”

Peter did not wait for a reply, heading on out. He had people to kill and things were beginning to get a little tight. His next step would be to take care of the two arsonists that were in Kate’s employ, leaving only Harris and the Great Bitch herself. He might actually seek out Derek; see if he could persuade his nephew to help him. It might also put the beta in a better mood if he had someone to commiserate with.

First, however, it was time to do some digging into Lydia Martin. If what he suspected was true, it shouldn’t be too hard to discover more evidence of it. 

 

KATE ARGENT:

Kate had sat on the edge of Allison’s bed in the hospital. Allison had not said anything since she had come in, but Kate knew she was awake. The girl was probably exhausted; those kinds of wounds had a tendency to wake you up if tossing in your sleep had you accidentally put pressure on them. 

“Sweetie, I know your parents talked to you about all of this, but if there is something you want to ask me, or tell me, you can, you know.”

Allison murmured from the blankets. “Kate. You’re going to kill Peter Hale, right?” 

“Oh, honey, you know it. This is why we’re here. If you ever wonder about why what your mom and dad and I do is necessary, you just think of him. You think of what he did.”

Allison made a noise in the back of her throat; Kate couldn’t be quite sure what it meant. “Thanks. I just want to sleep now.” Kate tucked her in, and she wished she could be more positive than how she had just presented herself to her niece.

Everyone but her father had told her she was too reckless, too wild for her own good. She was beginning to think that everyone else was right. This was turning into an enormous headache. 

“Shit.” Later, she paced in the Argent living room, weaving between the couches. “Why the fuck didn’t I kill him when I had the chance? He was a vegetable for six years!” She knew no one else was home. But she also knew why she hadn’t killed him; murdering the comatose survivor of an accidental fire would make the police start asking questions. Questions she definitely did not want answered.

But now, thanks to her idiot brother, the police were definitely involved. She could only hope that the sheriff was a small-town yokel who was a good politician but a lousy cop. If he was good at his job, then it wouldn’t take long for him to make the connections between the people Peter had been killing and the Hale Fire. And if any of them talked, it would lead straight back to her. 

More importantly to Kate, though, Allison was not only hurt but disfigured; she was going to need reconstructive surgery on her beautiful face. People could say what they wanted about Kate, but she loved her niece. She would put a bullet right in between that boy’s eyes the first chance she got. 

Kate knew she had to get on top of this and soon. Or, she had to run. She hated the idea of running, but she knew that Peter Hale was being very cautious with his new beta and the sheriff and Chris were watching Derek. Without a clear target in a pre-defined area, a direct assault was out of the question. An alpha was dangerous enough without giving it more advantages.

So, she had to change the rules of the game. She knew she had to be at the hospital between 2 and 8 a.m., but until then she was free to work. The only possibility she could see is the fact that only two people, right now, knew all about her remaining conspirators: her and Peter. If he killed the video clerk and the bus driver, he would reasonably be going after the other three. 

He’d find them, but not if she got there first. It was time to pay a visit to Adrian Harris. 

It wasn’t hard to find the chemistry teacher’s apartment. She parked far down the street, pulled her hair up into a bun, put on a long and bulky coat, and carefully worked her way towards the apartment. She had her eye out for potential witnesses and for security cameras. She’d been trained to avoid them. While surveillance was nearly everywhere nowadays, it was rarely quality surveillance. 

She knocked on the door with her hand in the sleeve of the coat. The fool opened the door without checking who it was and without keeping the chain on it. “Can I help you?”

She stuck a silenced gun in his face and her foot in the door. “Hello, Adrian. Long time no see. Let me in, and no one has to get hurt.” 

He was just as spineless and uninteresting as she remembered. He scrambled away and whimpered. “There’s no need for that.” 

She came in and closed the door. “Maybe there is. I need to know who has come to talk to you, Adrian, because things are getting very interesting, and I am beginning to think that you are at the bottom of it.”

“No. No, I’ve done nothing!” Kate mentally rolled her eyes. Men, for the most part, sucked. 

“Then you won’t mind telling me who you’ve been talking to, because someone has been digging, and a lot of people are dying. People who are connected to what you and I both know is a very messy situation.” She tried to sound conspiratorial and play to his fears. “If I know who knows, then maybe I can protect both you and me.”

Harris was out of his depth; he folded like wet cardboard. “Only one person talked to me, and I didn’t give your name. I don’t know your name.”

“Who was it and what did you give them?” She took a step forward while he wilted back. She might shoot him just on principle. 

“Laura Hale. It was Laura Hale, but she’s dead now! You heard the news.”

“Yes. I heard the news. Now answer the other question. Did you give her anything that could lead her to me?”

“No! No! I gave her nothing. I had nothing to give her.” 

Kate looked at him skeptically. Laura Hale, formerly and relatively briefly the Hale Alpha, might not have been the most powerful alpha in the world, but she certainly could have intimidated this spineless worm into spilling his guts. It made no difference.

“I believe you.” Then she shot him in the head. 

For a moment, she wondered if that was reckless. It would stand out as something different than the animal-attacks that the rest of the murders would be attributed to, but it might throw Hale off and she needed all the chaos she could arrange to keep her involvement in the Hale fire secret. 

She disassembled the gun, put it away and then left without touching anything else. The coat might leave fibers, but she’ll burn it and ditch the shoes. If you don’t have any options, her father always taught her, make them.

 

SHERIFF STILINSKI:

The sheriff sat in his chair in his office, staring at the meal one of the deputies had brought him. He had not touched it, even though it was a steak sandwich from his favorite place with the type of fries he loved the most. He couldn’t even bear to consider eating it. 

Instead, he turned to the Hale fire files that he had requested from records. Argent needed Peter Hale’s motivation, and this fire was clearly the largest possible motivation. He would have had a bit of sympathy for the man if his method of revenge wasn’t destroying innocent lives, including his son’s. 

Due to the fact that his eyes had been opened to the presence of werewolves in his town, it now became obvious that the Hale fire was a hate crime, an act perpetrated simply for whom the targets were, not what they had done. The fact that there were human members of the Hale family trapped in the fire was simply horrifying, but it was also telling. The people he was looking for were desensitized completely to violence. Once he had opened his mind to the possibility of werewolves – only because Chris and Derek had answers for things that made no sense otherwise – he had been prepared to see the foundations of his passion for law enforcement undermined. Strangely enough, it did no such things. While the methods changed – he had to take into account claws, wolfsbane poisoning, and super strength – the motives did not: hate, greed, lust. It was actually more depressing.

If they hadn’t been asking him to help find the truth, he would have immediately suspected the Argents. The pride that John had detected in Chris Argent’s voice when he spoke of his family’s history made him anxious. No matter how necessary they thought their task, taking the lives of sentient creatures – even with claws and fangs – lead inevitably to callousness and cruelty. That’s why the Sheriff relied upon the law. When it worked, it weighed each case on its own merits and all history outside the event itself vanished. 

He closed his eyes. The law was helpless in this case; both Chris and Derek had been adamant about the need to keep the existence of the supernatural a secret. This secrecy made the possibility of justice doubtful. He could not even blame them; he’d seen enough of the mob mentality in the world to agree with the possible consequences of exposure.

A knock on the door disturbed his reverie. “Come in.” He should have looked to see who it was first, because it was Rafael McCall. Fantastic.

“Sheriff, I was wondering if could speak with you for a minute.” To his credit, McCall seemed less combative and aggressive than usual. John suspected he would be subdued as well if he was faced with what the FBI agent was facing. 

“Sure, Rafael.” He emphasized the name to underline the situation. “But you know I really don’t know much more about the investigation than you do. I am out of the loop.” 

The tall man came in and sat down heavily. “I know. I know. But you have to know more than I do.” He opened his mouth. “I have to know, if you think that he . . . If there is any way to . . .”

I do know more, but I can’t tell you. The sheriff waited. “I don’t think we know everything yet. You know that these things don’t always end up being the way they look at the start.”

Rafael kept his eyes lowered. “I have no idea what to tell Mel. I’m sorry? It’s going to be all right? Everything sounds like a lie. Are they even close to finding him?” He was angry, suddenly. “Are they telling me that a sixteen-year-old with no training can just wander around this city for a week and no one sees anything?”

The Sheriff looked at the other man, trying not to frown in distaste. He wasn’t going to be able to give the man what he really wanted: absolution for not being there. Because it was true, he hadn’t been there, but that’s not what this is about. And Rafael McCall was obviously blaming himself for the situation. 

“I don’t know. Just tell her the truth. Tell her what you know, which is almost nothing. Just be there.” He closed the file on the desk. “And, I’m sorry, but I am going to have to leave. I’m bringing Stiles home today from the hospital.”

McCall looked up. “I forgot. How is he?” Which was McCall’s problem all the time; if it wasn’t about him, he didn’t think about it. 

“As well as can be expected. He’ll be in a wheel chair for a month, then he’ll start learning to get around with a crutch and, if I can swing it, a prosthetic. That’s the doctor’s plan, anyway.” John gets up. “Look, if I hear anything, I’ll give you and Mel a call, okay?” He shook the man’s hand and moved out of the door. He felt guilty, but it wasn’t his story to tell, and he couldn’t trust Rafael McCall to ruin the whole damn thing in a burst of self-righteous anger. 

Things were too dangerous for that to happen.

 

DEREK HALE: 

He had stood on the front step of the Stilinski house for five minutes. He did not know why he was so anxious about going in. Derek did not hold himself responsible for what had happened at the school. He did not. He refused to believe it was his uncle that did that. So, he could take whatever the boy would say to him. Or so he kept telling himself.

Steeling himself, he knocked on the door. The sheriff opened it and let him in. “Glad you could come over, Derek. I’m making dinner, but there are some things I need to clear up with you.” 

The house was pretty much what he expected; the house of a middle-aged widower and his teenage son. Not much decoration, furniture arranged for ease, the smell of fast food, a place lived in. It would have been comforting to him, after living in dingy motels and ruined buildings for the last few weeks except for the teenager scowling at him from the couch. Derek imagined that Stile’s missing limb would have been pointing right at him. That is not my fault. Repetition was key in making yourself believe something.

“Sit down; it won’t take me long.” John disappeared into the kitchen leaving him standing in the living room. He did not sit down, but stared at Stiles. 

“Well, the man said sit down, asshole,” Stiles gritted. “You’re making me uncomfortable.” Derek didn’t apologize but he sat down anyway. “So, I am to understand that it wasn’t enough that you and your shit got to ruin my life and Scott’s, you are dragging my dad into this as well.”

“He came to me. Blame the Argents.” He wasn’t going to be a punching bag for anyone, even for a teen who had a legitimate claim that his shit had indeed, ruined his life.

“Oh, don’t worry, I blame them plenty. They have their own special file in the Blame Cabinet. I’m talking about your file.” Stiles’ hostility was palpable. “So, Dad told me what you and Argent think what happened. Did you know that your uncle could do that?”

“We don’t know that it’s my uncle.”

“Whatever, did you know an alpha could do that? And if you knew, why the freaking hell did you not warn us about it? Did it slip your mind?”

Derek took a deep breath. “It is not a simple . . . “

“Yes it is,” Stiles cut in. “Did. You. Know. The. Alpha. Could. Do. That? It is a yes or no question.” Stiles was keeping his voice down so his father couldn’t hear it. 

“It’s not that simple,” insisted Derek. “I knew that an alpha could bring a beta to heel, but I didn’t know that an alpha could use it to make his betas do ... other things.” 

“Really. That’s convenient. Your alpha never made you pick up your toys? Clean your room? Kill the postman?” 

Derek glared at the boy. “I have been a werewolf all my life, so of course my alpha used it to calm me down. Control is as important as self-control. But I know the command isn’t absolute; it can be resisted, once you know how.” Derek spread his hands. “I know what you are going to say, but I had no idea I should have shown Scott how to resist. My mother and Laura never, ever used it like that, so it didn’t occur to me that someone else could.”

“Oh.” Stiles seemed to deflate a little. “I wanted to be angrier with you.” 

“You can, you know. You have a right to be.” Derek tried to look sympathetic even though it was uncomfortable to him. “If it makes any difference, I know it can’t be my uncle. He wouldn’t have hurt me like that.” 

Stiles leaned back and actually lifted the remains of his right leg up. “I didn’t think Scott would hurt me like this, but he did.” His bitterness was expressed in every gesture and in his scent. “And if you think it makes it better that he was forced to do it, it doesn’t. Because that means I can’t even hate him.” 

“I am going to find who did this, your father is going to help me, and then we’re going to help Scott and anyone else that this monster has hurt. I know you don’t believe me, but we – people like me – aren’t supposed to act this way. We’re not killers.”

Stiles looked at him with something between fury and wonder. “Wow, wolf boy learns to use his words. It might have helped if you had done this before.” 

Derek didn’t know why he was talking so much. He wasn’t good at it, but it was suddenly very important to him that Stiles didn’t think that all werewolves were like the alpha.

Before he could continue, the sheriff came in. “Dinner will be ready in a few.” He sat down next to Stiles. “I have some questions, Derek. I’ve gone over the case file for the Hale fire. “

Derek suddenly went still, as if he had heard a threatening noise.

“Both the bus driver that Scott is accused of killing and the video store clerk were suspects in that fire. Now that I know what I know, I want to ask you a serious question – do you believe that an Argent could have been behind the fire.”

Derek suddenly found the tops of his shoes very interesting. “I think so, yes. They talk about a code, but they don’t follow it.”

Stiles perked up. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If an Argent was behind it, why would Mr. Argent want you to figure it out? Unless, he didn’t know they did it.” 

The agonizing discussion went on. The sheriff kept asking background information about his family and their relationship with the Argents. Derek kept dodging, kept avoiding his personal relationship and his own guilt. He certainly did not want John or Stiles to know what he had done. Blessedly, the sheriff’s phone rang a few minutes after they had got settled around the dinner table. “Well, I have to go. There’s a murder I can actually officially work on. Someone’s been killed with a gun.” He stands up. “Derek, would you do me a favor and finish eat dinner with my son? I need to go.”

Derek looked up, as if he was startled. “You trust me?”

John shook his head. “If you were going to hurt us you would have done it by now. It won’t take long.” 

After the sheriff had left, they sat together in awkward silence. Stiles looked like he wanted to say things but every time he opened his mouth, he would just shut it again. Derek didn’t want to talk anyway. What was he supposed to do? He wanted to make the kid feel better, but there was nothing he could say or do that would make this disaster any better.

Stiles finally spoke after he had finished his dinner. “What are you and my dad going to do next?”

Derek looked up from the food he had barely touched. “We are going to find Peter; we’ve been trying to find Peter. For me, the only way to prove he isn’t the alpha is to find him. I know places where he liked to go.”

Stiles looked eager for a moment and then glanced down at his leg. “I guess I’d just be in the way if I went with you.” Derek heard the teen’s teeth grind. 

“You won’t always be, Stiles. You’ll get back on your feet and then you’ll get in just as much trouble as you did before.“ Derek blurted out. Why would he say that?

Stiles smiled a little at that. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

 

NATALIE MARTIN:

Natalie was really proud of her daughter. Nine days ago she’d survived a horrific massacre at school and the death of her boyfriend, and now she was tearing around the house in a frenzy. 

“Lydia, you don’t have to go back to school on Monday.” She tried to sound reasonable. “Your teachers have been sending the homework here. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I will take care of myself by getting out of this house,” Lydia proclaimed. “I am going to go mad if I have to stay here for another week.”

Natalie walked over and put her hand on your shoulder. “Are you feeling trapped? I understand that, but you have to respect the trauma you’ve endured. You barely held it together at the funeral.”

“I barely held it together, as you put it, because I had spent the four days before it in a drug-induced haze, for which I am grateful, but I know I did not have time to process it.” Lydia brushed her mother’s hand off her shoulder. “I am going out of my head now because I can’t pretend that I know what is going on. No one is lying to me, but I feel that everyone is lying to me. I can’t find out the truth in this house! So I am going out!” 

Natalie took a deep breath. “Lydia, I am not letting you leave the house while he’s still out there.” She was going to put her foot down. “There is a police car parked outside for a reason.”

Lydia looked mutinous. “Mom, I know you think you know what is going on, but the story that the papers have can’t be right. Scott McCall didn’t just walk out of that classroom, do a circuit of the school, and then decide to murder people, especially not his best friend and his girlfriend. Jackson didn’t die because he wouldn’t pass Scott a freaking lacrosse ball!” She shook her head. “Someone, and it wasn’t Scott, dragged me out of that school while everyone was being slashed up, and whoever it was did not do that because I am the prettiest girl in class. They did it for a reason, and I am going to find out why.” 

Natalie crossed her arms. “You didn’t know the boy before this semester.”

“No, I didn’t. There are these things called phones, mother, of which I am capable of using with great skill. But I’ve learned everything I can learn from inside this house.”

“No, Lydia. You aren’t going anywhere.” Natalie broke out her parent voice, which she only rarely used. “Once they have him in custody, you can do whatever you want, but not now.”

Lydia grunted in frustration. “Fine. I’ll be in my room.” 

Natalie shouts back up at her. “I have your car keys!” She moved to the front window and looked outside making sure the police car is present in front of the house. When that monster is caught, she’d be much happier. 

She understood her daughter’s desire to make sense out of the senseless. Lydia had not learned yet that some things happen in the world without any rhyme or reason and that there was no help for it. You had to ignore the things that didn’t make sense, that couldn’t possibly be true. The only thing you could do is make sure you made it through to the other side. 

Natalie felt bad though. She was happy to be Lydia’s mother. She couldn’t imagine being Jackson’s mother at this time, coping with his sudden absence. She imagined trying to be Stilinski’s father or the Argent girl’s mother, trying to help them recover from horrific injuries. Her heart lurched at what Melissa McCall would have to be going through right now. No, she was going to be thankful for what she had and protect what she had. 

Unconsciously, she checked the alarm system. It was still green, which was so very, very good. Green meant safety and security. She could sleep with green.

It wasn’t a half-hour later that the alarm went from green to red and the house rocked to the sound of a scream and shattered glass. Natalie had been dozing on the couch, but she ran to her daughter’s room. But Lydia was already gone, most likely through the gigantic hole in her window.

 

PETER HALE:

Peter glanced behind him as Scott followed him into the woods. Tonight’s excursion would almost certainly be rewarding on some level, but if he could move his beta from being a resentful captive to being a reluctant assistant, he could start planning for his final move. Kate Argent had finally begun to make her own moves, taking out the despicable chemistry teacher. She was finally ready to play, and he had to make sure he had all his pieces on the board. He hadn’t been able to meet with Derek, who had been sticking close to the sheriff. That was going to be a problem, but it was not insurmountable yet.

Scott scratched at his arm as he walked. His clothes had to be uncomfortable by now, stiff with the blood from the massacre over a week ago. He had allowed the beta to shower, but Peter wouldn’t let him wash his clothes. The constant smell of blood had to be less than soothing to the kid. 

They came to a small rusted metal shack in the middle of the preserve, far from the Hale home and far from any other habitation. When they got there, two men were tied up in front of the shack, gagged, but awake. Terrified but relatively unharmed. 

Scott did not say anything to him, but the anxiety and outright fear poured off of the kid. The boy studied the ground beneath their feet. 

“Scott, I’d like you to introduce you to two of the men who burned my family alive, Mr. Unger and Mr. Reddick.” Peter was being flashy and dramatic again. “I could go through all the steps about how I found out about them, but that would be tedious and we have better things to do.” He steps forward. “I would like you, my beta, to kill them for me.” 

Scott took a few steps back as he panicked; Peter could tell that this was exactly what the boy had been afraid of when he saw the captives. “No. No way. Don’t make me; please don’t make me.” For a second, Peter thought the kid was going to make a break for it, but the amount of pain he had inflicted over the last week or so was beginning to show. Scott also knew that Peter would take it out on his mother and his friend if he fled – which Peter totally would, if he could get away with it.

“I don’t want to make you, Scott. If I have to command you every time I want you to do something, you are going to be far more trouble than you are worth, pack or no. This time, you are going to kill them without me having me make you do it.” He walks up to Unger and moves his gagged face back and forth with one clawed finger. “They’re arsonists, Scott. They’re murderers. They burnt children. Surely, you won’t begrudge the dead justice.”

“I don’t care. I’m not killing them.” He kept trying to step away from the captives. “Do it yourself.”

“I was afraid that you were going to be stubborn, Scott, so I have an alternative plan. You can either kill these two murderers, or I can make you kill them.” Peter, always fond of the dramatic reveal, goes to the shack and pulls it open, reaching into reveal Lydia Martin, bound and gagged. “As well as Miss Martin here. She, unfortunately, is quite innocent. “

Lydia’s eyes were wide open and full of fear, but she was not hysterical, which amused Peter. She was learning. This was going better than he thought.

“Why are you doing this?” Scott demanded quietly. He, on the other hand, was definitely going to cry at any moment.

“Because I will have my revenge, and you have to help me. There’s no going back for you, and the sooner you accept that, the better for both of us. There’s so much we can do together.” Peter shifted Lydia with just a hint of threat. “But the cost of your stubbornness is going to be high if you don’t start pulling your weight.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this,” Scott pleaded. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You certainly can do it, one way or the other, but this time you get to make a choice – two people die, or three people die.” Peter was relentless. “Two worthless scum or two worthless scum and an innocent classmate, whom you’ve already hurt before. So now, there will be no more stalling. You will do what I say when I say it, or I will make you do it.”

Lydia suddenly gave Peter a glare that would have caused death in lesser beings. Peter liked this girl quite a bit. 

Scott closed his eyes and turned away from Lydia, so she couldn’t see his face. He nodded once in agonized acquiescence.

“Now transform, do it so they can see you. So she can see you. Show those scums what they brought on themselves when they decided to burn the Hale house to the ground.” Peter insisted, calculating that the fear in the men’s eyes would dehumanize Scott even faster. If the boy started thinking of himself as a monster, that was what he would be.

Peter always relished the reaction of the beta transformation on those who had not seen it before. It was not impressive as his full alpha transformation, but, strangely, the lesser one was more capable of creating a satisfying reaction. The alpha transformation could invoke such terror that rational thought was wiped away in an instant. The fear moved at a slower pace when there was still the illusion of humanity.

Scott did as he was told, slowly transforming into the beta form. He was also breathing heavily, full of fear and conflict. No doubt, Peter thought, he was trying desperately to think of a way to avoid what his alpha had proposed. The key, of course, was to make him more scared of disobeying Peter than of killing, and then to get him to enjoy the violence he was capable of inflicting. Difficult, in this case, but not impossible, as Peter was about to prove.

Lydia watched as Scott turned back to her. Peter heard her heart rate increase, but he also saw her eyes narrow when she saw Scott’s eyes were now electric blue rather than the golden she had seen at the school. 

Peter smiled at her observation, but he had to continue. “Now choose one of them, Scott, and cut their throat open with your claws. Just one.” His beta jumped a good foot in the air at that. “You have two minutes, Scott, or I roar and you’ll do it anyway, but Lydia will pay the price.” He jerked her up again. 

Time slowed to a crawl, but Peter had pulled a pocket watch out of his coat. He never wore wristwatches, as they tended to break during unplanned transformations. 

Scott actually whimpered as he looked between Lydia and the two men. Indecision roiled over his face.

Peter sounded bored: “One minute.” 

Lydia glared at Peter and then looked down at the ground. Strangely enough, to Peter, her heart rate was slowing. She was becoming less afraid. 

Scott was so distraught he probably could not hear that over the sound of his own heart even as he glanced back. Peter sighed. “Thirty seconds.”

Lydia, beneath Peter’s hand, shifted to be in a more comfortable position, as if she were soon not to be frightened at all. This was extraordinarily promising, if his suspicions were correct.

Scott turned away sharply from Lydia, maybe misinterpreting her relaxation as giving up. Suddenly, mixed in with the fear and conflict, he felt a surge of anger from the beta. There it is.

Peter whispered to Lydia. “Watch this.”

With a growl, Scott leapt forward and slashed Unger’s throat. People might have the idea that blood would spurt out like a fountain, but that’s only in the movies. The blood was a rush of dark on dark in the night air. Reddick strained and howled through the gag at the sight. Scott just stood there, his hands shaking. 

“Very good. There’s hope for you yet. The next part is a bit messier. You are going to cut Mr. Reddick free, give him a ten second start, then hunt him down and kill him. Rules are similar; he gets away, then either you or I will kill Miss Martin. Understood, Scott?”

Scott turned and looked at Peter and nodded. He didn’t look at Lydia, but she could see the tears. Lydia’s eyes narrowed and now he could feel anger radiating off of her. 

Peter nodded in encouragement to the boy. “Go on, now.” 

Scott did as he was told, cutting Reddick free and then growling to ten. It was recognizable. Reddick didn’t need to be told twice. 

After the two of them had gone, Peter removed the gag from Lydia’s mouth. “What did you think of my show, Lydia?”

“You are an unbelievable bastard.” She spat. “Is this what you did at the school?” 

“I didn’t give him a choice at the school. Now, what I want you to do is quite simple. Listen for when Mr. Reddick dies.”

Lydia gave him her best side eye. “I have no idea what you mean by that. Why should I do anything you tell me? You aren’t going to kill me.” She said the last with a strange confidence – it wasn’t rational, but she believed it.

Peter laughed. “Of course not, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to listen for his death.” It was like asking someone not to think of something; they would do it because they were trying not to think of it. “As for the school, I am being a little more rough than usual with Scott. Training a new beta usually takes a year or so, but I don’t have a year. I’m working in a narrow window, and I don’t need a puppy; I need a killer.”

“Well, you are taking a page out of the pedophile’s playbook,” she sneered. “Isolate him. Make him identify with you. Sever his previous connections. You’ve hit all the bullet points from How to Have an Abusive Relationship.”

“I am not a pedophile, Lydia. Are you listening?” He asked again as a non sequitur. “Though, if you think it might help speed his development, I’m not above a little carnal interlude. I’m a creature of a night, girl, not a high school gym teacher.”

“I think if you press him too hard, he’ll become a killer all right. He’ll kill you.”

“A risk, yes, but I didn’t choose this path to be safe. Revenge has its risks.” He leaned to her ear. “Are you listening?”

Lydia opened her mouth to say something but then paused. “What? What’s that?” She took in sharp breath and her heart stopped for the briefest of moments. 

Peter allowed his smile to grow even wider. “That, Lydia, is death. So, why do you think I chose you to come out here?” 

“I don’t know. It wasn’t just to motivate Scott; he barely knows me. To do that, you should have taken his mother or Stiles or even Allison.” She took a breath, trying to understand what she had heard. “You want something from me, but I don’t know what I can give you.”

“Lydia, it’s not what you can give me. It’s what I can give you!” Peter smiled cruelly, laughed and then his smile kept getting wider and wider and wider. 

 

CHRIS ARGENT:

Kate swore loudly as they watched the video from out front of the hospital on the television. “Why in God’s name would Hale kidnap a girl, bite her, and then have his stooge drop her off at the hospital.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Are we sure it was an alpha bite?”

Victoria nodded in response. “Keep your voice down; Allison is sleeping. I got my hands on the medical report. The wound is in the traditional position for an alpha’s turning bite.”

Chris turned away from the video. He had already seen it three times. If he had to watch it again, he would have it available. “At least part of the reason is to pin all of his attacks on Scott, publically. The boy’s a patsy.” He closed his eyes. “But you are right, Kate, there has to be more to it than that. If he wanted to make another beta, why release her at this stage? It may be a threat against Allison, which means a direct threat against us.”

Kate looked over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I see,” said Victoria. “Lydia was becoming friends with Allison. They had gone on a double date and they were supposed to be doing something together the night of the attack at the school. Something to make us hesitate?” 

“Maybe. I am not sure, but I don’t think it can be a coincidence that both of them were close to Allison. Victoria, I think we should consider relocating Allison for the time being.” Chris frowned. He had never wanted Allison involved in any of this. Now she was lying in her bedroom, her face wrapped in bandages. “We also need to keep an eye on the girl and be ready to move if need be.”

Kate chewed on her knuckle. “Still no help from the sheriff? He is still keeping an eye on Derek?”

Chris nods. “The sheriff is convinced that the whole situation is tied to the Hale fire. He also said that Derek is sure that we caused the fire. I’ve verified the time that Stilinski has spent with Derek. He’s not the alpha, and if he is in contact with the alpha, both of them are being very, very cautious.”

“Peter must have killed Laura to become alpha,” observed Victoria. “Peter can’t be sure how Derek will react to that, and as long as he’s got this beta to run interference, he might not want to risk a confrontation with his nephew.” 

Kate snorted. “This is all great, but we are no closer to finding them. I’ve covered as much as the preserve as I can. No sign.” To Chris’s eyes, she seemed nervous, which is something he never thought he’d say about his sister. “I’m going to the hospital; I’ll keep an eye on the Martin girl.”

“Be careful, Kate. If Derek assumes we started the fire, any of us are targets.” She waved his words off and stormed out the door. Chris shook his head. 

Victoria cleared her throat. “Something’s up with her.” 

“I am guessing that it is the same thing that’s been up with all of us. Allison. I don’t know. I don’t know how she’s going to react to this once she has time to process it. Maybe we should have told her sooner.” He went to the bar and poured himself a drink, offering one to his wife, who declined. “Maybe this is our fault.”

“We did the right thing, Chris. We wanted her to have her own life and make her own decisions. The only people to blame for this are Peter Hale and Scott McCall.” She gets up. “I know I approved of your promise to the sheriff ...”

Chris took a drink. “Because it was the right promise to make. The boy is being used as a pawn, and it is obvious that Hale doesn’t think any more of him than that. He had him get caught on tape, for God’s sake. He’s sixteen; it’s not even been two months since he was turned. He has no idea what he is doing, and he’s being used by an alpha that’s obviously insane.” 

“I know, but have you thought about what happens to the boy if we manage to bring down Hale and not kill him while doing it? On top of the murder and attempted murder, he’s wanted now for kidnapping and assault. There is no way all of this can be swept under the rug.” Victoria comes over and lays a hand on Chris’s arm. “Killing him might be a mercy.”

Chris poured himself another drink. “You know me, Victoria. You know I don’t enjoy killing, but after all that this monster has done to these children, I think I’d enjoy skinning Hale alive. What about Allison?”

“You’re right. I think we need to take her to Washington. She isn’t going back to school anyway. Who do you want to go with her?”

Chris thinks about it. “Probably Kate.” He remembered the nervousness in his sister’s eyes. “She’s taken what happened to Allison pretty hard.”

 

SHERIFF STILINSKI:

“Stiles, you should go home. I can let you know if something changes,” said the sheriff. He knew the moment the words left his mouth that he was not going to win this argument.

“No can do.” Stiles spun in his new wheelchair. “One of the advantages of the new mode of transportation is I can wait anywhere. I’ve got my homework, I have snacks, and you know I can sleep here.” He sobered up for a moment. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until she wakes up.”

John took a seat in the regular uncomfortable contraptions that hospitals called a chair. “Kiddo, I know you like her, but you have to take care of yourself as well.”

“You mean you don’t want me around here should the guy who bit her comes back.” The sheriff swallowed; sometimes his son was too perceptive for John’s own comfort. “Dad, I just can’t stay at home and do nothing. Not when I can do something, and not when there is going to be a lot of not being able to do anything in my future.” He tapped the side of his wheelchair. “Do you remember what it was like at the start of Christmas vacation? Scott and I spent like way too much time in front of the Xbox, and you started bugging us to go do something outside?”

The sheriff nodded. That was only a few months ago, but it seemed like years.

“That is never going to happen again.” His son was trying to reassure him, but it did not work. There was pain floating beneath the surface of that sentence, a pain that could not be openly confronted yet. “My life is different, and I can either sit in this thing and whine about it, or I can do something worthwhile. Right now, that’s waiting for Lydia to wake up. So go solve crime.” Stiles made a shooing motion. “Don’t worry. I’m sure that they’ll be a lot of moping and whining later. I’ll let you know when I enter the sullen and depressed phase.”

John smiled brightly. He knew there would be a ‘sullen and depressed phase,’ but he was so proud that his son was able to put others before himself. What more could he ask for? “I don’t tell you enough, but you’re a great son.” He stood up. “I have to go. I have to figure out how to make Derek tell me the truth.”

“You think he’s lying?”

The sheriff nodded grimly. “I really think he’s trying to help, but he’s lying to me and he’s lying to himself. I think he knows more about the Hale fire then he is saying, and I think he certainly knows that his uncle is the alpha.” He shook his head. “I can certainly understand why he wouldn’t want to face the truth. As far as I know, Peter is his last living relative.”

Stiles looked over to the side. He knew what that was like. “Good night, Dad. I got the phone here in case anything happens.”

After a pat on the head, he left. The sheriff hoped that there would be no reason for his son to call him. 

 

ALAN DEATON:

When he was younger, just a little older than Scott was now, his mentor had taught him an important lesson. No one, not even the prescient, could see all the results of their decisions, so feeling guilty about unforeseen consequences of a decision made after careful thought was a waste of energy. A decision could be wrong and still be the best one you could make.

He had taken his time when making the decision not to interfere with Peter Hale’s revenge for the murder of his family. If his own code of behavior had allowed for something as violent and selfish as revenge, he might have even volunteered to help. The murder of an entire pack of innocent werewolves by a horrific fire was a crime against the world. Once he had recognized what was going on, Peter Hale’s revenge spree seemed like a redress in accordance with the balance.

Given that, he should have the self-discipline to ignore the guilt about what his decision had cost. He could not ignore the fact that his lack of action cost his favorite employee his entire future and possibly his freedom. His mentor would have been very disappointed in him, but not as much as he felt disappointed in himself for letting things get this bad. He had made a rational decision, but he had misjudged the depth of Peter’s madness. Innocents were being hurt.

He sat down in the hospital across from Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, now bearing the consequences of his decision in his own body. The boy had fallen asleep in his wheelchair and was snoring slightly. He looked peaceful, as if he had not been permanently altered by the violence that Alan himself had permitted to occur. 

Deaton scolded himself. While he understood that he was feeling regret and that this was a valid emotion, he was not a teenager. He was not going to embrace guilt for what he had not done. It was Peter Hale who had forced Scott to attack his own friends; that act was solely on the werewolf. He was here to help, but first he had to wait for the young man to wake up, so he began to meditate.

Meditation had many practical purposes. It could calm your worried mind so you could rest. It could help you reduce distractions when you were trying to solve a problem. In the hands of a skilled practitioner, it could open your mind to possibilities beyond the mundane flood of sensations that human senses often brought. It was not exactly magical; instead, it was the ability to exclude the dross to find the sublime. 

Deaton had hoped to find the solution to his problem in this meditative state. How could he repair the imbalance his misjudgment had caused? Or to be more sentimental, how could he save Scott McCall from what had been done to him? He needed to find an answer, and to do that he had to push aside recriminations and dispense with premature mourning. Emotion wasn’t going to solve this.

He found he was having trouble focusing. It was not his emotional turmoil; he had long ago learned to vanquish such things when entering a meditative state. The spark he sensed was chaotic and unfocused, like a storm in a bottle. 

His eyes opened, and he realized that the only person he could have sensed the power of the spark within Stiles. He had not spent much time around the boy. Many people assumed that the presence of a spark meant that the bearer was supernatural. This was not true, as his mentor had told him. All sentient beings had a spark within them; it was the part of their soul that could exist outside the prison of their own existences. His mentor had offered up artists, poets, teachers, scientists, explorers as examples of those who had a strong spark and put it to good use; they had learned to harness what they had and use it effectively beyond themselves. It had nothing to do with being extroverted or being introverted – that dealt with social interaction. This was a relation to the universe.

There was potential here. If one’s spark was strong enough; if one was open to it; one could use it to affect the universe in more direct ways. People called it magic, but Deaton’s mentor and now Deaton himself called it wisdom. Stiles had a great deal of potential; more than Deaton had seen in a long time in a casual acquaintance.

Stiles had woken up, perhaps because Deaton’s exploration of his surroundings had brushed up against his sleeping mind. “Uh, Dr. Deaton. Hello.” The boy was instantly suspicious. Alan remembered that for a while, they thought he may have been the alpha.

“Good evening, Stiles. How are you?” 

Stiles shrugged. “Oh, hobbled, actually, but still mobile.” Sarcasm was the young man’s standard tactic. “What are you doing here?”

Deaton retained his practiced calm. “I thought I would come to see how you and Miss Martin were doing. I have not seen you since that night at the school.”

Stiles shifted in his seat. “Yeah. I know it wasn’t me who did that to you, but I am sorry that it was done. Derek was . . . “

“I know why Derek suspected me, and I cannot blame him. I wished he had not been so rough, but I have recovered. Unfortunately, few others can say that; I did not expect Peter to do what he did.”

Stiles was not slow to understand what he had just said; his face contorted into an accusation. “What are you?”

“I am a veterinarian.” He said it as if it was a fact. “But I used to be a close friend and advisor to Talia Hale, Peter’s sister and Derek’s mother. Derek did now know me; Talia kept certain matters a secret from her family for their protection and for mine.” If he was going to help, he had to reveal at least a few of his secrets. “I am just as human as you are, Stiles.”

Stiles held onto his suspicion like it was a blanket. “That seems an awful big coincidence, you know. You just happen to be Scott’s boss and he just happened to be bit.” 

“I understand why you might think that, but I can only assure you that it may have indeed been a coincidence.” Deaton actually did not believe that it was a coincidence, but he did not think now was the right time to introduce the young man before him to ideas about destiny. 

The boy threw up his hands. “Whatever. What can you do to help?”

“First, I would need to have someone tell me what has happened to Ms. Martin. It would need to be the whole truth.” Alan had read in the paper that the police believed that Scott had kidnapped her, attacked her, and then left her at the hospital, as strange as that sounded. 

Stiles explained what he knew; his father, the Argents, and Derek assumed that the alpha had taken Lydia, gave her a turning bite, and then had Scott drop her off at the hospital. Lydia hadn’t woken up, the wound had not healed, but she was not getting any weaker. 

“Stiles, I would like to be able to help Lydia, but I need to examine her. It might take some time. To do that, I need a distraction. Would you be willing to attempt one?”

Alan knew he could probably sneak into her room without Stiles help, but he also understood that it would be good for the boy to do something. Stiles thought about it for a moment before nodding and rolled away, flashing a ‘thumbs up’: “You know, I should be more suspicious of you, but you’ve actually, for the first time, told me something that I could use. So I guess you looking at Lydia couldn’t hurt. You’ll hear it when I do it.”

It took only a few minutes until an incredible crash echoed through the halls of the hospital, followed momentarily by a very loud “OH MY GOD!” call from Stiles. It was a sufficient distraction, though Alan hoped the boy hadn’t actually injured himself to do it.

He slipped inside to Lydia’s room and began a thorough, if really hurried examination. The bite had not healed, but there were also no sign of her rejecting the bite. Her vitals were strong and healthy. If he had time, he would have let whatever was happening takes its course, but time was a luxury no one in this city had any more. He removed a hypodermic he had from his pocket and injected the solution into her IV. He believed that the mistletoe would be effective in stabilizing whatever supernatural activity was taking place. 

He then closed his eyes for a moment to see if he could sense anything else, reducing the normal sensations other people would see. To his surprise, there was another presence. The other one was located in a corner of the room. He opened his eyes and said in a voice he hoped would not scare the other presence away. “Why don’t you show yourself?”

There was a flicker at the location where he had sensed the presence. It was the murdered teen, Jackson Whittemore. Alan had heard that ghosts existed, but they were a lot rarer than most people believed. 

“I’m not here for you,” the ghost spoke. “I didn’t think anyone could see me but Lydia. I’m here for her.”

“Here for her? I am afraid I do not understand what you mean by that.”

The ghost moved to watch her. “She didn’t need me when I was alive. She needs me now. She called me.” The ghost looked at Lydia with naked emotion. 

“Why does she need you?” Alan had never encountered a ghost before, but everything he had read indicated that they had access to things the living did not. 

The ghost wasn’t interested in being interrogated. He shook his head and vanished once more. Alan found this highly unusual. While everything he had read of ghosts indicated that they would be formed at the scene of violent deaths, they were usually tied to the place where they died or even perhaps the person who had killed them. Very, very rarely, were they tied by love, and he doubted that teens could experience the level of emotional commitment to create such an anchor.

He withdrew from the room and resumed his seat outside. After about ten minutes, a shame-faced Stiles – who was clearly not ashamed – was wheeled back to this location by a nurse. “I’m really sorry. I’m just getting used to this.” He gestured at himself. 

The nurse looked at him with sympathy and then moved on. Alan watched the young man with raised brows until the nurse was far enough away. “Yeah, yeah,” Stiles said, “I’m going to hell. What is the verdict? Is she going to be all right?”

“I believe she will survive. In what state she will be when she wakes up, I can only speculate. The presence of the ghost makes me believe that something unique is going on. I have never heard of the bite not transforming or killing the subject. Obviously, something is very different in this case, but I cannot tell whether it is because something is different with Miss Martin or if Peter intended for this to happen.”

Stiles face was so twisted in surprise and indignation by the possibility that he had never heard of this before that Alan cannot help but continue. “Wait. Hold up. You said ghost?” 

Alan nodded. “There is a ghost attending Miss Martin. I do not believe that it means her any harm.” There was no point in revealing the identity of the ghost to Stiles unless he demanded it. “Peter, before the fire, was very interested in esoteric lore. He even explored areas that I know very little about. It is not impossible that he has found ways of altering the effect of the bite.”

Once he had processed the idea of Holy-Shit-A-Ghost, Stiles leaned back in his wheelchair and narrowed his eyes. “So you are telling me that Petey’s not just an alpha werewolf, he’s some sort of dark sorcerer. That’s just amazing, in a totally shitty, not-amazing way.”

“That description is not entirely accurate, but it is not inaccurate. He simply knows more things about our world than the average werewolf.” 

“Great, so what do we do now?”

Deaton looked over at the room. “As hard as it might be, I believe we have to wait. I think that Miss Martin may have far more answers for us when she wakes up.”

 

DEREK HALE

Derek growled in frustration, which drew a worried glance from the sheriff, at another night with another dead end. He stared morosely out the window at the industrial buildings sliding past in the night. His eyes watched what was moving in the alleys between the buildings, what flashed behind the windows, but it was not what they were looking for. It was not what he needed to find.

“You okay, son?” John asked. In response to Derek’s tight nod, the sheriff continued. “Don’t let it worry you too much; this is part of the job most people don’t see on television. Investigations take time.”

Derek turned to look at the sheriff; he had spent the last nine days (and nights) in a car with John Stilinski, watching the man working what was the essentially the equivalent of an extra shift each day without complaint. You learn about people when you spend that much time in a small space with a single goal. 

Derek knew that John was a better person than he was: the sheriff was more responsible, wiser, more skilled, and far more caring. That John didn’t seem to hold the Derek was a werewolf or that werewolves had done something to terrible to the Stilinski family against him simply underlined these qualities.

And in the face of this real heroism, he was sitting there protecting his own secrets. “Sheriff?” Derek took a deep breath. 

“Call me John, Derek, I’m not on duty.”

“If this were a normal case …” He started. “As a sheriff, if this were a normal case, and I asked you what was the chance that my uncle, if he was innocent, was still alive after being missing for this long?” Derek gritted his teeth. “What would you tell me if he were human?”

“There aren’t normal circumstances, Derek. Most of the police force is out looking for Scott, which means that your uncle is not a priority. That sounds cold, but we have to prioritize.” The sheriff paused, as if gathering the strength to speak what he thought was the truth. “But if your uncle’s condition is as dire as you described, it does not look good. In a mundane situation, I would be advising you that you need to prepare for the fact your uncle is probably dead.”

Derek looked up at the ceiling of the police cruiser. He had always known this day was come; he had laid awake thinking about it; he had had nightmares about it. He had hid it as long as he could from everyone. “I know who was behind the Hale fire. If Peter is the alpha ...” He pauses; this is the first time he said it out loud as if it could really be possible. “If Peter is the alpha, he must think the Argents did it, and he would be right.”

The sheriff just kept driving, but he did say, “I’m going to need more than that, son.” Derek thought this must how he elicited confessions. 

So Derek confessed his whole sordid crime, his terrible betrayal, with Kate Argent. He kept it simple and factual. He did not try to defend himself. He did not try to obscure what had happened through euphemism. It was shameful enough without lying further. When he was finished, he said only this in his defense. “I guess I could only tell you when I felt that my uncle couldn’t judge me for it.” He took a breath of air. “I don’t know if telling you sooner would have helped.”

The sheriff frowned as he parked the car. “Derek, I can’t blame you for not coming forward when you were a teenager, but … yeah, it would have helped.” He sighs. “But we can’t help that now. What we can do is swear out a statement for her arrest.” 

Derek looked down at his knees. “You don’t have enough evidence yet.” He pushed away his own shame when he realized that there might have been a reason. “But that’s not the point, is it? You are setting up a trap.”

“Yep,” John said. “If the alpha, whoever it is, is fixated on gaining revenge for the Hale fire, then he is going to come after Kate when we arrest her.” He started the cruiser up and headed towards the sheriff station. “That is where we’ll catch him.”

 

PETER HALE:

In retrospect, Peter admitted, he might have overdone it. He listened to Scott growling in his sleep in the next room. It had gone on for hours as the beta slowly shredded the mattress that Peter had supplied for him in the locked bedroom.

The pain, the isolation, the strategic murders and assorted other psychological games had been intended to make him dependent, pliable, violent and a fit instrument for revenge. But ever since the delicious scenario in the woods with Lydia, Peter had noticed a marked decline in Scott’s lucidity. It might have been his tactics on the day after the karmic end of Reddick and Unger that pushed things into this unfortunate position. If true, he was going to blame Lydia. She had suggested it. How was he to have known the boy was still a virgin?

Peter had come to the unpleasant conclusions that Scott’s usefulness as a beta was not going to outlast the final assault against the Argents. It was a pity, but he could always make more betas. He knew that he had to vanish from Beacon Hills as soon as his revenge was complete and lay low for a few years. He had already prepared for this eventuality, but dragging an insane and/or feral teenage werewolf with him was just asking for trouble. 

Still, given this decision, there was a bright side. If he was no longer interested in Scott’s long-term health, he could employ certain other measures to make sure he was more effective in the final confrontation. He estimated that he would have enough time to get to the school and back before Scott woke up. Peter sighed; suddenly, he felt like a babysitter.

He parked his car at Beacon Hills High School. It was maybe thirty minutes after nightfall, and his senses indicated that there was no one nearby. In the vault would be what he was looking for, something so controversial that Talia had forbid him from ever bringing it near the house. He knew that by now, the Argents would have set up their home as a secure fortress, lining the windows and doorways with mountain ash to block egress. This, of course, was a wise idea, as staying out of reach of a werewolf was the best way to survive contact with said werewolf. Peter retrieved the special surprise he had long ago purchased: a single white phosphorous mortar shell with an accompanying mortar. It is amazing you could get on the internet when ethics, morality, and money were not a concern.

There was the possibility that all the Argents would be killed when he dropped that ordnance on their home. Peter smiled to himself: he would forgo the pleasure of killing them with his bare hands if he could listen as they burned to death. He’d place Scott out front to discourage the police, fire services, and nosy neighbors from interfering. 

He certainly wasn’t going to wait until the full moon to do this. He may have a flair for the dramatic, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d wait until the upcoming Friday night. The moon would be waxing gibbous, and thus it would provide more than enough light for his aim. 

 

VICTORIA ARGENT: 

Victoria appreciated that the Sheriff was using his office as neutral ground for this meeting. Both sides could not afford to start a fight here, and she was sure that Derek Hale, as a born wolf, had enough control to prevent any unpleasantness. She had more tolerance for born wolves; they weren’t as apt to lose control and murder people at random. That did not mean she liked them in the slightest. 

Right now, she was more worried about her husband, who was reacting with uncommon aggression at the story the Hale beta had just revealed at the Sheriff’s urging. He was shouting about how his sister would never do such a thing like that, that they operated by a code, that it was simply Derek trying to cover for his uncle.

“Chris.” She hated to command her husband. She rarely had to do so, but he had a blind spot for his blood relatives that she could not share. “I hope, Sheriff, that you have more evidence than this.” She wasn’t going to say that she doubted Derek Hale’s story, but she knew it would not hold up in court. 

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. “I do. While it was years ago, banks keep pretty good records. Corresponding withdrawals from your sister-in-law’s bank accounts match payments to all four of Peter Hale’s victims. It is not enough for a guilty verdict, but it is enough with Derek’s testimony to pursue an investigation, issue a warrant, and convene a grand jury. But that’s not why we are here, is it?”

Derek Hale was glaring at her and Chris, but she could tell well enough that it wasn’t solely directed at them. He must have been forced to reveal the details of his relationship with Kate. It had to be excruciating to reveal this to anyone else, and whatever Chris said, Victoria could easily see what he had described happening.

“Victoria, you can’t believe ... “ Chris was desperate in his need to disprove the story. 

“Chris, could you step outside? You need to calm down.” She was firm in her tone. Chris got up and left. “Excuse my husband, gentlemen. He cares about his family a great deal.”

Derek Hale looks up. “You don’t?”

“I am an Argent by marriage, and I do not see them the same way that Chris does. We do have a code; for people like my husband, the code is an aspiration. It is the motivation for the life he has chosen, one which others may consider dangerous and perhaps even criminal.”

The sheriff glanced at her for what she left out. “And what about you?”

“I am like most hunters; I see the code as both a restriction and a burden. But I also feel it is a necessary burden; we are human, after all. Without restraint we can easily begin killing for the sake of killing, and not for the protection of others.” She looked Derek in the eye, unblinking. “No matter how justified we are in what we do, it is always easy to cross that line. Sheriff, you must understand that.”

The sheriff nodded. “I do.” Derek was clenching his fist so hard his hands were turning white.

“Chris doesn’t believe that his sister could have done this. I do. She has always been openly contemptuous of the code as well as eager to earn the approval of her father, who is very radical in his approach to hunting, in my opinion. But you did not bring us here just to warn us of your impending legal action.”

Stilinski stated with a firm conviction. “You are right. The alpha obviously was saving your family for last. I am sure you are prepared for that, but I would rather attempt to apprehend him in at a location of our choosing.” She noticed he still wasn’t calling him Peter Hale, for the comfort of the man’s nephew. How could Derek have been so deluded? She knew enough to know about werewolves to understand how highly they prized vengeance. 

“You want to use my sister-in-law as bait for a trap. I would agree, but she is no longer in the city.”

Derek sneered. “Is that right?” 

“As a family member and an experienced hunter, we had Kate take our daughter to our home in Washington.” She said. “We didn’t want Allison to get hurt any more. But, that doesn’t’ mean we can’t convince the alpha that she is still here.”

The sheriff nods. “Fair enough. Though, if I do find more proof, I will be arresting your sister for murder. How do we let him know?”

“She killed human children, Sheriff. She knew what she was doing.” Victoria was not completely callous, but she had always feared that Kate’s disregard for the line would get her in trouble. “And Derek could certainly make contact, if he wanted to.” She turns her gaze back to Derek. “You can’t pretend any more that the alpha is not Peter Hale and that makes him your pack. Your howl would draw him in. He would be expecting an ambush, so we don’t ambush him there; we give him a second location where you, Derek know that Kate would be.” 

“You are expecting me to lure my uncle into a trap so you can kill him?” Derek sneers. “No. “

The sheriff says: “Look, my goal here is two-fold. I want the killings to stop and Scott McCall returned. But I am not going to send Derek in there with a possibly unstable killer.”

Victoria sneers at Derek, as Chris finally returns, having calmed down. “How do you expect this to go down? Eventually, he will come after us. It is clear, that it is either him or us.” She explains to Chris her idea. 

Derek glared at her with conviction. “No, I won’t do it.”

The sheriff rubbed at his face. “I have a compromise. Derek, if you can do this howl-thing and your uncle responds, you’ll be able to find out the truth. All I want, right now, is surveillance on the meeting, audio and visual.”

Victoria protests. “Without a trap, we’ll never get a better chance.” 

“Anyone else being present, he’ll smell it, and he won’t come, no matter who it is.” Derek says. 

The sheriff says to him. “We have simple packages you can install by yourself. I and the Argents will be in a vehicle at the maximum viewing distance, watching and listening. This is your chance to clear your uncle’s name.” 

Victoria nods. “That would be acceptable to us.” Chris looked at her but she gestured with her hand to wait. Whatever the result of this exercise would be, they would get important intelligence. The primary goal now was to eliminate the alpha. Once that was done, any other problems could be resolved. 

 

KATE ARGENT: 

Allison was her favorite niece, but sometimes she could really get under her nerves. “Kate, I just want to know. I want to know everything.” The girl brushed a comforting hand away from her face. “Things like this don't just happen.”

“Sweetie, you need to calm down. You’ll pull your stitches.” Snow was falling down outside the house in Washington. “Things just happen all the time. Why don’t you trust us?”

“Because you’ve been hiding this from me my whole life!” Allison shouted back and sat down on the couch. “Because I’ve been sitting here helpless for the last three weeks! Because it doesn’t make any sense that Scott would lure me to the school for his alpha when he had me alone in the woods for an entire day! I thought you would at least tell me why.”

Kate was exasperated. She wasn’t going to be able to put up with this. “Because Peter Hale got burned so badly in the fire that destroyed the Hale House that he spent six years in a coma and woke up as a crazy psycho, who murdered his own sister and is fixated on a belief that we were behind the fire. You can’t look for logic in crazy.”

“Did we?” Allison asked, suddenly.

“What?” Kate spat in surprise. 

“Did we set the fire that burned down the Hale house?” 

“No,” Kate sneered. “We didn’t.”

Allison suddenly looked at Kate as if she wasn’t her favorite aunt any more. “But you did. That’s why you are so upset to be up here with me rather down there. You don’t want anyone to find out what you did.”

“Sweetie, are you sure you don’t have a concussion? Because that is just nonsense.” She tries the bravado route. 

“Mom mentioned that you were in town during the fire. Dad mentioned that you came when he spoke up about the alpha. You’ve been nervous since we left . . . no, since we found about Peter Hale.” Allison says. “Mom and Dad don’t know, but they’re not used to you lying to them, like I wasn’t, until I find out you were all lying to me.”

Kate snapped. “Allison, go to your room. You’re obviously tired.” 

Allison storms off. Once she’s gone, Kate took a deep breath and announced to the empty living room: “Fuck my life.” She then called up six of the hunters she knew the best, who were more loyal to her than some stupid code or her stupid brother. “Get your gear. We’re going to Beacon Hills and we are going to fucking end this.” 

 

SHERIFF STILINSKI: 

John Stilinski could not figure out Victoria Argent. She had demonstrated herself to be pragmatic, intimidating, and ruthless. He saw the look in her eyes when she talked about werewolves; she hated with a pure, sharp hatred. Then, she would bring cookies – really good cookies – to a stake out.

He checked the feeds from the equipment that Derek had put in place. Audio was good; video was good. He wished he could have made sure of the location himself, but both Derek and Chris had assured him that Peter would be able to smell he had been there. 

Victoria waited patiently, and John could tell that she was someone who would neither fidget nor get bored. He could; he hated stakeouts, actually. He always thought that Stiles might have gotten his restless nature from Claudia, but sometimes, when he was bored out of his skull in a stakeout, he wondered if he actually got it from him. His son had certainly got his curiosity from him.

“So, Mrs. Argent, if you don’t mind talking; what’s your story?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I understand family, so I understand why your husband would be a hunter, but what about you?”

She offered him a slight smile. “Call me Victoria, John. I was not from a hunter family, but that did not prevent my family from being hurt by them. I sought out the Argents, because I wanted justice.” She paused. “Or revenge. It isn’t strange how closely those two work together. But, after I had joined, Chris seemed to think I was something special.”

John nodded to encourage her to continue. She was not his type of woman, but he could not argue that she was impressive. 

“He and I decided early on that we would not force Allison to join the family business. He wanted to give her as many choices in life as we could; we wanted her to be a happy, normal teenager.” She sighs. “I do not believe in fate. I’ve always felt that it should be that we are what are choices make us. It is one of the reasons why I hate them.”

John looked over at the video feed. “Because they can take away choice.”

“Even they recognize this. Those werewolves who care about ethics – and I will admit there are some who try – say unequivocally that the bite should never be given without consent.” She looks at John. He thought she was trying to get a point across to him, but he could not figure it out what it was yet. “Do you know what happens if an Argent is bitten?” 

John shook his head. “I suspect you are going to tell me.”

“If I were to be bitten, I would be expected to take my own life. If I didn’t, I would be hunted just as if I had taken an innocent life.”

John didn’t bother to hide the horror from his face. “That’s ridiculous. What would the point be?” Maybe she was crazy. 

“It is a choice. Our last choice. What type of future do you think that an Argent werewolf would have? I could not stay with the Argent family; I would not be welcome among the werewolves. Would I be an omega, hiding out for the rest of my life, hoping I could keep control?” 

John did not know what exactly that last part meant, but he figured out her point. “You want to convince me to kill Scott.”

“We made an agreement, and we don’t break our word, but I want you to think about this. What if this is successful? Even if you were able to make all the charges and evidence disappear against him – which you can’t – what do you expect him to do next? Finish high school? Go to a good college? He’d still be a werewolf who has killed an innocent human being. Who knows, he might have killed more by now. What is his life going to be like? Imagine yourself, barely in control, with only the memories of a life that could have been.”

“Listen, Victoria. I am a cop; I deal with that type of question every day, and the answer isn’t much different, as far as it goes. I can’t see the future and neither can you. What I can see is a mother waiting for her son to come home. What I can see was a little boy who never hurt anyone until some monster made him do it. The only answer is justice, and in this case, that means that no one – not me, not you, not your husband, not any hunter that ever lived – gets to kill him because it’s easier.” He made the point forcefully.

Victoria was not disturbed by his vehemence. “I believe I had to try to convince you.”

John was certainly going to keep an eye on her after this. 

 

ALAN DEATON:

Alan and Stiles were actually playing cards in the waiting room of the hospital while waiting for Lydia to wake up. The young man was actually quite good at cards, because he was very good at making you think about anything but the cards, with a steady stream of words about any topic that might strike his fancy, while simultaneously thinking about the game. 

Alan considered the boy. In the way they approached their lives, they were total opposites. His preferred method of dealing with life was to focus on one thing at a time in the correct priority as decided by his own personality. This is why he was, first and foremost, no matter what else he was doing, a veterinarian; he was not a hero, or an emissary, or a druid, but a veterinarian, because he healed the sick. This was what he chose to focus on. That is what he was trying to do at this hospital – heal the sick. Whether it was the comatose girl with the ghostly guardian, the frantic boy with ADHD and an amputated leg, or the lost and abused werewolf that no one could find, he was here to heal.

Stiles, however, employed his own weaknesses in his defense. There was always at least five things going on at the same time in his head, and since none of them had priority, none of them dominated his thinking. He could play a game of cards, ramble on about time zones, twitch his phantom leg, worry over Lydia, and deal with the terror of the last few days at the same time, because none of them had full control of his thinking. Nothing dominated him.

Alan hadn’t told Stiles that ghost was Jackson. He did not see what good it would do yet. Perhaps after Lydia woke up, and the veterinarian was sure that she would wake up, it would be time to do that.

He would have been content to play until it was time to go home and sleep, but suddenly he was aware of the ghost standing in front of him. By the flail, the rain of cards, and the mouth hanging open, it seems that he had chosen to appear before Stiles as well.

Jackson sneered. “Try not to draw too much attention to me, okay, asswipe? She’s up, and she wants to see both of you.”

Alan stood up without saying another word, took hold of Stiles’ wheelchair and walked like he was supposed to be there and wheeled them both to Lydia’s room. Jackson walked behind them, watched with silent gasps and little jerks of the head and hands by Stiles. 

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I will try to keep people off you for as long as I can.” 

Lydia was up and getting dressed. The wound still bothered her for she moved with deliberation, but it was obviously nothing that would prevent her from moving. She must have heard the door open and the sound of a wheelchair because she began talking without turning around. “I've been thinking. The only way to resolve this situation without anyone else dying is to move the alpha power to a better candidate. So, that is what we need to concentrate on.”

“Ms. Martin, you have yet to be released from the hospital,” Alan began.

At the same time, Stiles said: “Lydia, are you okay? What are you talking about? Why is Jackson – dead Jackson – standing out in the hall?”

Lydia did not stop getting dressed. “There is no time to get me properly released from the hospital. A lot of people are going to die tonight if we do not do something. So we are going to do something.” She finally puts on a jacket. “I am not okay, but if I want to be okay, I have to stop lying around waiting for things to happen to me and start actually making things happen. And Jackson is in the hallway because he is a ghost, Stiles.” Alan was amazed that she said it like she was describing who was taking her to the Winter Formal.

Alan studied the girl. On the surface, she had the mask of determination and an air of nonchalance, as if the fact that she had been bitten by a werewolf and her boyfriend was now a ghost was on the same level of possibility as the fact that she had failed to win the homecoming queen contest and made a C on a history test. Below it, he could tell that she was attempting to reassert control over her life. He could be sympathetic, but he was not going to mistake an attempt at confidence as a confidence. “Unfortunately, Miss Martin, I don’t think that there is anything we can do tonight. I will also place myself in a serious and difficult position if I take a minor patient out of the hospital without your guardian’s approval. What I can do is discuss with you possible courses of action, while we wait for your mother to return.” 

Stiles was craning his neck, lifting himself half out of his wheelchair, trying to see into the hallway, but he still demonstrated an awareness of the situation. “Yeah. Yeah, we can talk about possible courses of action. And also . . . ghosts!”

Lydia glared at Stiles and then at Deaton. “Look. I have to do something. Everything I had before is gone. It is gone.” She suddenly looked fragile. “I had a plan; I was in control. I was going to conquer high school and then college, but that was dependent on me understanding how the world works. And now, I don’t understand how it works. Now, my life is full of killer monsters and psychopaths and dead boyfriends. Peter Hale wants me to ‘listen’ for things. Jackson says that I ‘called him back.’ I don’t know what this means.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “I am scared. If I don’t do something, I’m going to go home and crawl into a pill bottle or I am going to go crazy.”

Deaton takes a deep breath. “I can help you understand what is going on. I am going to help you, as much as I am able, but you need to lie down and take things slowly. What is going on now is far more complex than you might imagine, and if you don’t understand what is going on, you aren’t going to be able to do anything worthwhile.” He gazed at these children. “You are not in a position yet to do anything yet.”

Neither of them was happy with their response. Neither of them could see any way to act tonight. 

 

DEREK HALE:

Derek stood in the ruins of his childhood home. He could not shake the feeling of dread that settled in his bones, next to the already established feelings of crippling shame and despair. He had believed once that he would never howl for his family again; never call to them across the woods of the Preserve. Yet he had just done so. He wondered if Peter could hear all the emotions he had poured into it.

He hoped that his uncle would not show, because if he did, then it would mean that the Argents and the sheriff were right. It would mean an unthinkable betrayal. But he also hoped that his uncle would show, because that would mean he was still alive. 

Derek took a deep breath. At least he wasn’t running. At least he wasn’t hiding. Weirdly enough, he felt stronger now that he had actually told the sheriff the truth about the fire. He felt less wretched now that he had confronted the Argents with what Kate had done. It still hurt; it hurt like his bones were on fire. He felt he could endure it now. 

He heard something fast moving through the underbrush around the home. He glanced once toward the hidden camera that he knew the Argents and the sheriff were watching through and then shifted in preparation. People did not move that fast if they weren’t trying to get the element of surprise.

One of the few windows still intact in the house shattered as a shape barreled through it. The assault was without subtlety, a savage pounce straight at him, but Derek was ready and just redirected the assault into the living room. Broken wood and scorched furniture tumbled everywhere, and the werewolf slowed its tumble with his claws.

Derek roared and turned to face his opponent. If this was a challenge from the alpha, he would not show any weakness. He did falter though when he got a good look at his opponent. “Scott?” It was not a surprise that the alpha would have brought him, but the boy’s condition had been impossible to predict. There was no sign of the teenager he had met a few weeks ago; he was almost completely feral. 

Scott began to circle Derek, obviously going to continue the attack. He wasn’t wearing shoes or a shirt, even though it was early spring. He crouched low, growling. Derek watched him warily; this wasn’t possible. While turning feral was a danger, it couldn’t have happened this quickly, especially for a beta. The presence of an alpha was stabilizing. 

“I think that’s enough,” said his uncle, coming through the door behind him. Peter looked much like he had in the time before the fire and nothing like he had the last time Derek had visited him in the hospital. “Sorry about that, Derek; his new found enthusiasm makes it difficult to keep him calm.” Peter made a gesture with his hand and the growling beta came to him, like a summoned dog.

“Peter.” Derek breathed. This was worse than he could possibly imagine. “What have you done?”

“Only what I had to, Derek; only what they has been forced upon me. I am going to gain revenge for our family against the people that destroyed it. I want you to help me.”

Derek growled at the alpha. “You killed Laura. You murdered my sister.”

“I was not in my right mind. If I had the slightest idea what I was doing, I wouldn’t have done it. I am not going to waste the power I took from her.”

Derek didn’t believe him; he was too upset to listen to his uncle’s heart. That trick took more concentration than he had right now. He supposed he could have believed him, but then he saw Scott growling at his feet. “And him? What did you do to him?” 

“I may have rushed his training? Over compensated? I’m on a tight schedule, and I needed a killer, not a pokey little puppy.” Peter tried to blow it off. “You can scold me after the Argents are dead.”

Derek frowned. Peter’s jocularity was not only misplaced, it was terribly wrong. He could not reconcile this callous attitude with what he was taught by his family about the relationship between werewolves and humans. He spat it out and filled it with as much as sarcasm he could muster. “The bite is a gift.”

Anger flickered over Peter’s face; his eyes glowed red in irritation. “Naiveté is unbecoming, nephew; we live in a world where it takes determination to survive. “ He pointed down at Scott. “This bite is a gift – a gift for us. If you care so much about him, then you can take care of him after we’re done. I need to know now – can I count on you for this last part?”

Derek could not let this go on. He had only been willing to follow the sheriff’s trap plan when hope still existed that Peter wasn’t the alpha. He knew that if Peter had come to him with a plausible explanation of Laura’s death, he would have forgiven him and helped him with the revenge. But there was no plausible explanation for this. It was cruel and vicious and power hungry. He made his own decision. “I have been working for the sheriff; he is looking at Kate for the fire. He can tell me when they find her.”

He could see Peter’s mind working. “Or, we could just attack the Argent’s house.” 

Derek frowned at that. Even if he wasn’t trapping Peter with this discussion, he would have rejected that. “Are you serious? Most likely, we wouldn’t be able to get in. They would have had to surround it with mountain ash by now.” 

Peter opens his mouth to respond when he suddenly stops. “Expecting anyone, Derek?” Derek had been focused on the conversation, on searching for clues in Peter’s behavior, that he had missed the sound of vehicles coming. And these vehicles weren’t ones he was expecting. He shook his head and moved stealthily towards the door. Peter shuffled to one side, and Scott scooted along behind him like an animal; it sickened Derek.

But it did not sicken him as much as what he heard from the three jeeps as they pulled up. “Light it up, boys,” Kate shouted. He barely had time to leap back as the gunfire began.

 

CHRIS ARGENT:

It was always his father and his grandiose ways that took a broadsword to a wolf after he had captured it. He thought it was vulgar; he thought it was excessive. This time, though, Chris was definitely going to cut Peter Hale in half, with a meat cleaver if he had to, at the first opportunity. 

His wife and the sheriff watched the same video monitor. They saw Scott attack Derek, Derek’s surprise at the teen’s condition, and Peter Hale’s arrival. In a gesture of compassion, he put his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. Unfortunately, he did not have to imagine what the man must be going for, seeing a child he’d known for most of his life reduced to a snarling animal. The first time you see such things was always the worst. He’d seen it before.

He glanced over to his wife and shook his head. She obviously wanted to touch on Scott’s future, and this was not the time. Derek was obviously going to help them with the trap. It would take a blind man not to recognize the revulsion he was feeling toward his uncle at this point. 

Just when he thought that they were making real progress, Chris heard his sister’s voice cry out in the distance and then the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons. He cursed. “Damn it, Kate. What the hell are you doing back here?” 

Victoria shook her head. “She left Allison by herself? She’s probably back here to bury the truth, Chris. Sheriff, we have to go. It’s going to be bloody.” 

The sheriff was already scrambling to the driver’s seat. “I am taking your sister in, whether this goes south or not. “ He wasn’t pleased either, not by a long shot. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t be bringing in more deputies right now.”

Victoria argued, strapping herself in. “The only way we keep this under control is if as few people know as possible. Kate will pay for what she’s done.”

The van lurched into motion, Chris steadying himself against the wall, while he watched Victoria try to raise Kate on the phone. He completed the systematic check of his weapons – pistols, stun batons, and a crossbow – as he tried to think what she was up to. “She had to have brought people with her from Washington. All our men are on watch tonight. Sheriff, I think I heard maybe four to five automatic weapons. It’s going to be a pretty big firefight in there.” 

The sheriff grunted as the lights on the van came to life and it roared down the road. It would take them maybe five minutes to reach the Hale House, and Chris knew, by that time, the situation would be close to revolution. It depended on the tactics that Peter employed. If his rage got the better of him, this fight could already be over. If he used Derek and Scott to scatter however many people Kate had, then it could swing the other way. 

Victoria nearly snarled. “She’s not answering. She’s either turned her phone off or she’s busy.”

“Victoria, I want you to stay with the sheriff. This is his first fight with werewolves. He isn’t familiar with their tactics or their speed.” Now that combat had begun, Victoria was no longer in charge. This was his bailiwick.

The sheriff glanced back as if to say something, but he thought better of it. 

“Distance, sheriff, is the most important thing. No one does well in hand-to-hand with a werewolf.” He opened the bag he had brought, just in case, and took out three stun batons. “If you do, these are your best shot. “ Balancing on the van, he put one in the passenger-side seat. “And they’re our best chance for catching people alive.”

He was sure that Kate wasn’t going to try and take anyone alive. Chris pushed the thoughts of what was going to come after down. The only thing he needed to be focused on right now is ending this fight for once and for all.

The police van pulled up at the Hale House. The first thing that Chris knew that was bad is that there wasn’t the sound of automatic fire. This meant that either Kate and her men were down or they had lost contacts with their targets. In this type of fire fight, you did not skimp on bullets. “I go first,” he declared and then slid out of the police van. 

While it was dark and the moon – which not a full moon was getting very close – was hidden behind a bank of clouds, the headlights from all three of the vehicles Kate had brought with her were on. It wasn’t the best lighting conditions, but it was enough. 

There were two bodies near the cars, both hunters. One was totally dead, chest sheared open with a swipe of what must have been the alpha’s claws. The other was alive, just badly hurt, and the claws marks were smaller and less deep – Scott. Kate had just left him out there; there were also a lot of blood and bullet casings. The werewolves hadn’t gotten away free of injury. They were probably off in the darkness, healing.

Chris could see where her and her four remaining hunters had set up a defensive position. He noted that she knew that she was the target, and so she was going to make them come to her. This meant she knew what this was about. 

“Kate!” He called out. “Shut this down now!” He wasn’t stupid enough to stand out in the open where she could see him. He never believed she would have stooped to what she had already done; who knows how low she could go. He had to entertain the possibility that she’d try to cover up her crime by eliminating all witnesses.

“Sorry, Chris, can’t do that. I’m going to end this tonight.” She called back. “So you take that idiot sheriff and Victoria back to the house, and let the real hunters get the work done.”

Chris frowned. “We found out you burned down the Hale House, Kate.” He called out. “You broke the Code.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get off your high horse, and we’ll talk about this later, after we kill what we’re supposed to be killing.”

Chris frowned to himself. After you get rid of all the witnesses. He paused; he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do at this point. Peter Hale had to be taken care of, but after that, he had no idea what he was going to do. Allowing Stilinski to arrest Kate was going to unleash repercussions for him and his family, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. It was too dangerous not to think of anything but what the werewolves were doing. 

Speaking of which, Chris was shocked to realize that there was one right behind him. It was Derek Hale; the werewolf hid behind one of the cars. The hunter could tell that the werewolf would rather have been anywhere but here, talking to him, so it had to be something important forcing him to come here.

Chris whispered to him quietly. He had to establish rapport, or this was going to go really bad really quickly, and Derek could have killed him while he was talking to Kate. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I didn’t think she’d do that. I’ll get you what justice I can, but later.”

Derek’s beta-form scowl did not lighten when he shifted back to human form so he could speak clearly. “I don’t know where Peter or Scott went. After the gunfire and the first assault, Peter vanished. He’s really fast.” He growled. “I know he’s not going to leave with Kate here.” 

Chris could tell that Derek wasn’t planning to leave with Kate here. “Derek, I’m going to need you to find everyone. “ He knew that Derek’s senses were far sharper than his. The werewolf bristled but nodded.

Minutes passed and Chris was getting more agitated. Was he wrong? Did the alpha just retreat? Kate must have thought the same thing, because she began to taunt. “Where you run off to, Peter? Hiding in the house? It’s not as secure as you though then, and it is not secure as you think now.” Kate and her hunters were moving into the burnt-out shell of the home, because, of course she would. 

Derek screwed up his face. “I heard a car fob over there.” He points in that direction. Chris shared his puzzlement. Was Peter fleeing? Why would he flee in a car? “Wait. Something’s moving fast toward your wife and the sheriff.” He gets up. “Maybe it’s Peter.” 

Chris hesitated. “Peter would focus on Kate. It’s probably Scott, being used as a distraction.” He got up and rushed in the direction he knew his wife and the sheriff would be in. He assumed that Derek would go after Peter and Kate, but he knew that a feral beta would be dangerous. 

The sheriff and his wife had their backs up against the police van. His wife was hurt but she shook her head. It was a minor cut on the leg. The sheriff called out to him. “He’s circling. I don’t think he’s actually trying to kill us, just keep us here.” 

Victoria stood up. Her wound wasn’t bothering her. “He probably sees me as a threat; you not as much. You have to remember he’s working on an instinctual level. If you were close to him, he’s not going to be aggressive unless he gets frightened or we attack him. What’s the situation up there?”

Chris shakes. “Kate and her men are in Hale House. Did you see any other cars around?” Before they could answer, there was a strange sound – a punk and then an arcing whistle. 

“Down!”shouted the sheriff. John pulled both him and Victoria down to the ground as if by instinct. There was an explosion and the remains of the Hale House lit up in the night sky. “Mortar shell!”

Chris looked up. “Why the hell would Kate?” He realized where the shell had hit; he realized with horror that it was an incendiary shell. The burned-out home was once again a pyre. “That wasn’t Kate; that was the alpha! Kate and her men are in the Hale House.” At the worst, they would all be dead; at the best, they’d be trapped by the flames.

He pulled his wife and the sheriff up, and he was about to run towards the house when he heard the alpha give off a roar. It wasn’t one he recognized, but the results were soon clear. Scott came roaring out of the underbrush straight at them; his feral side had given him speed and before Chris could even get his feet from under him, the teen bowled into all three of them, knocking them to the ground.

Chris rolled to his feet, training kicking in, his hand going for his stun baton and his heart racing. No matter how long one hunted, no matter how many times you had faced this very foe, hand-to-hand distance with the werewolf brought with it the edge of fear. The key was not to let it control you but use it to keep yourself aware and alert. 

Chris saw that Victoria had managed to throw herself to one side and used the van to pull herself up. She was never the most athletic hunter, but she kept herself in good shape. It was the sheriff that was in trouble; he wasn’t practiced with the baton and it had been knocked from his hand. Scott had got a hold of him and was dragging him along the ground; there was going to be no way that Chris could get to him before he did some serious damage. He switched the baton to his off hand and drew the .45. 

Before he could fire, another figure rushed past him and tackled Scott off of the sheriff, rolling over and over on the grass. “Get him!” Derek shouted. He was obviously a better fighter than the boy, but the ferocity of a feral werewolf could compensate. Chris lurched forward and brought the baton down on the boy’s back. He howled and went rigid, but he wasn’t immobilized yet. 

“Sheriff, I need you here; you have to hit him again.” The man rolled to his feet, grasped at the baton and brought it down. Scott finally grunted and fell over, dazed. Chris helped Derek to his feet. “I thought you’d be after your uncle.”

Derek had gotten a little of the current himself, but he seemed less worse for wear. “There are some things more important than revenge.” He looked at Chris in seriousness. 

“Sheriff,” Chris said, “could you and my wife secure Scott before he recovers? Derek and I are going to go finish this.”

 

DEREK HALE:

The Hale House was burning again. Derek wondered if his uncle thought this was poetic. For his part, he could barely look at it. He moved through the trees with Chris Argent, of all people, by his side to where his insane uncle and Kate Argent were probably locked in a final death match. He wasn’t sure, right now, who he wanted to win.

Nothing ever goes away, he thought to himself. We all have to face the consequences of what we have done. His consequences were lit by firelight. 

“Derek,” whispered Chris Argent, running next to him. “Stop for a moment. We have to see what we’re doing.”

Derek did bring himself to a halt. As much as he couldn’t stand the very smell of an Argent, he knew that he didn’t stand a chance against his uncle without him. And, if Kate was there, she might hesitate long enough for him to get the advantage. 

“You need to see what you are doing, I can see perfectly fine.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Are you ready? I don’t see many ways this is going to end without your uncle’s death.” 

“You’re awfully confident.” Derek snarled. “I wasn’t expecting incendiaries myself.”

Derek started moving again; he had to force himself. He’d take a few steps, stop, and then move again. The house was an inferno; this time, there would be nothing left. Part of him felt that was just fine; part of him felt like howling. They reached the clearing and saw three bodies strewn across the yard. None of whom he recognized. Chris knelt by each one, still wary, checking for a pulse. 

Derek watched the tree line. He could feel Peter out there. “Is it over? Have you got what you wanted, Peter?”

“Not exactly!” The voice was not Peter’s normal voice, but the monstrous husk of words in his alpha form. “I would have much preferred an audience for me burning Kate Argent alive. It seems that I still have a little bit to learn about patience. And then, there are a few more Argents to kill.”

Derek glanced over at Chris and then back up. He knew Peter was moving as he spoke so as not to make himself a target. “Well, you have Chris and Victoria here. Sure. And then, what about me?”

“What about you? You are pack; you are family.”

Derek spat. “And I’m just as responsible for the fire as they are. They weren’t here. I’ve been around them long enough to know they had nothing to do with it.” He watched Chris stand up and ready his crossbow. 

Peter’s voice had shifted back to normal. “You, Derek, don’t belong to a family that’s made themselves wealthy and powerful by killing us. You made a mistake; they chose a lifestyle. None of us asked to be born werewolves. How many innocents did the Hale family kill before they decided to burn us? How many, Argent?”

Derek understood what his uncle was doing. He was trying to justify what he did; he was trying to get Derek to join him. Now, more than ever, his uncle felt the need for pack, for family. His vengeance was nearly complete, and he was looking towards the future.

Before Chris could answer, Derek shouted. “I know how many you’ve killed after the fire! You know, Peter, if you’d just been a little more careful, you’d probably could have gotten what you wanted, even now. I could have forgiven you for killing Laura, if it was an accident like you claimed. But you’ve killed innocent people; you’ve ruined innocent lives; you’ve maimed children. You think you proved something? You think you’ve made things right? The only thing you’ve done is proven the Argents right. You’ve destroyed our family’s legacy; in the end, we’re just monsters.”

Derek knew he was provoking Peter, and he knew he had succeeded when the alpha roared once more and abandoned any pretense of subtlety, charging from the forest, across the clearing, and slamming right into him. They rolled over and over on the grass, Peter clawing and biting at him. Pain blossomed along his arms and his sides; he’d pushed the alpha into a killing rage, and there was no way he was going to be able to fight him off.

That was fine for Derek. It would be over soon, and he realized that his goal had never been to survive this confrontation. His goal was to end it, and now, to do that, all he had to do was hang on. All he had to do was hold Peter’s attention and his body long enough for the werewolf hunter that the alpha had forgotten in his rage to do what he did best.

This is where I should have died, he thought through the cacophony of snarls and gunshots, through the pain and the heat from the house, at this house in the fire with my family. He gripped Peter tighter. There was nothing more to say. All he had to do was hold on.

Time faded and then Derek felt the weight that was on him slide off. He still held on, but it was without any strength. He could feel the blood seeping from dozens of wounds, and he could feel his limbs getting heavy. Suddenly, Chris Argent’s face was in his. “Derek! Derek! You have to end this.”

Derek groaned. Couldn’t he just leave him be? Groggily, he realized that Peter wasn’t dead, just incapacitated. He could hear the heart beat right next to him.

“You have to do it,” Chris shouted, but it was more like a plea. The hunter was just as upset, for some reason. Shouldn’t he be happy? He was going to end the Hales. “I gave my word. I gave my word!” 

Derek struggled to think through the pain and the haze. If Chris killed Peter that meant that Scott would become the alpha, as the spark passed to his strongest beta. He sighed with the understanding. While Chris had promised to do all he could to overlook the teen’s actions for the sheriff, he couldn’t permit another near-feral alpha to be created, especially one that had spilled innocent blood. 

He didn’t know where he got the strength; he didn’t know where he got the will. Maybe he didn’t want any Argent to kill his last remaining relative. Maybe he thought that he could take the power and then die himself. Maybe he just didn’t want anyone else to suffer. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but with aching limbs, he rolled to his feet, and looked his uncle in the eyes. He saw the madness there and the hate. This wasn’t going to stop unless he stopped it. So, he ripped his throat out; no grand gesture, just an end.

He could feel the power flowing into him. He chuckled, despairingly, because he knew that he wouldn’t die now, he’d live. Live with the wreckage of what he had helped bring to his family, to this city. There may have been a time when there could have been something more for him, but now, everything was shattered and broken. “I’m the alpha now,” he said in a voice without hope.


	2. Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Peter's death, everyone deals with the consequence of the insane alpha's actions. Scott, driven feral by Peter's manipulation and framed for Peter's murders, is imprisoned in Eichen House. Stiles discovers his own strengths by refusing to succumb to tragedy. Lydia becomes determined to never be a victim again. Allison faces the truth of her family's legacy and her own place in it. Derek contemplates his future. And Jackson begins to realize why ghost stories usually end up being horror stories.
> 
> And Gerard Argent ruins everything, because that is what he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fan work, so I politely request all the constructive criticism that can be mustered, even grammatical criticism. I have proofed the work several times, but since I keep finding errors, I know that there must be more in there. I will try to answer and read all criticism -- I don't think I can get any better at writing until I do so. If there is something that just doesn't make sense to you, please, come at me. 
> 
> As before, I remain unsure I did the tagging correctly, so if you see a tag that I missed that should be in there, please let me know.

STILES STILINSKI:

“This is like cross-country running,” Stiles explained from his wheelchair on the other side of the glass. It was actually reinforced polycarbonate, but no one in the room actually cared about that. No one was trying to escape. “Your lungs burn, your legs ache, you are nauseous, but you keep going anyway because that’s the only way you are going to reach the finish line. I know where the idea of the marathon came from, and I guess I can see why they would want to commemorate it, but it strikes me as morbid. Some guy runs twenty-six miles to deliver news of a military victory and then dies right on the spot. I would like to have met the guy who said that that was so cool, let’s do it every year.” 

Stiles wiped at his eyes. It wasn’t enough to erase the tears building up in them, so he rubbed at them, vigorously, until they hurt. He was not sure why; there were only two people in the room. Desperate to do something else, he stared at the floor beneath the wheels of his chair; its dinginess offended him. He could see that they had been cleaned, but the flooring was so old that the once-lemon-colored tiles had faded to a grimy pale yellow. To him, the condition of the room reeked of neglect and apathy; it told him that this was a place where you put things once you were finished with them.

“You know, finals are coming up. I’m going to do pretty good, and who would have thought that after all this.” He slapped at his stump, grasping desperately at the next topic that had come to mind. “I can really get a lot done without so many distractions. I mean, who needs lacrosse or friends or excitement or anything, really, when you can sit in your living room and do homework.” 

He forced himself to look across the room at his friend behind the glass. “I’ve been here for a half-hour,” he continued with a sigh, “and you haven’t understood a word I said, have you, buddy? You’re just like a dog. A big, stupid dog in a cage.” His voice rose in volume without him meaning it to. How did he ever expect he would be able to do this?

Scott had to have understood his distress at some point for he whined behind the partition. Stiles suddenly felt an intense nausea; the urge to vomit had him looking for some wastebasket. Of course, there was nothing like that here. His best friend sat on the floor, pressed up against the glass of the cell he was in. Scott kept looking at him, but Stiles couldn’t tell if it was interest or recognition. All he knew was that it hurt.

Stiles gripped the wheels of the chair, ready to push himself out of the room and into the hallways of Eichen House. He was ready to get away from this, because he couldn’t stand it anymore. What was he supposed to do? Sit here and watch! 

He had been talking the whole time he had been in the room. He had talked about shared memories, about current events, about anything, and the only response had been animal noises. At least his friend had stopped growling at him. He wanted to get inside the cell and shake Scott, shake him until he turned back into what he remembered. He needed that to happen.

The door from the hallway opened and Stiles sighed inwardly with relief. He could talk to someone else, someone who would listen, someone who didn’t make him ache when they couldn’t understand him.

The slim, well-dressed, attractive African-American woman who entered seemed familiar to him, though he had never met her before. “Good afternoon, Mr. Stilinski. I hope you don’t mind me taking up some of your visit. My name is Marin Morrell; I am Scott’s case worker here at Eichen House.”

Stiles studied her, warily. He was suspicious of new people more often now, he realized. He looked for danger in every new face. “Sure. It’s not like I was doing any good here anyway. He’s not the best conversationalist.” 

Morrell pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. “I am not sure that is true. It will undoubtedly do Scott some good to be exposed to people that might remind him of his humanity.” Stiles noticed that she tended to leave a lot of space between her words. “I wonder if it will be good for you, though.”

Stiles had a momentary flash of rage at the observation. He decided not to shout at her, so he fell back into sarcasm. “Uhm, you know we have never actually met? How would you know what is good for me? Have you been stalking me? I know I can get it at any time, but you are a little old for me.”

Morrell seemed completely unfazed by his words. “I came here to help Scott because Alan Deaton asked me; I am his younger sister. Alan would have preferred to see to Scott’s care himself, but he isn’t a practicing psychologist, and I am. And while I have not been stalking you, we have talked extensively about all of the people who were involved in this matter. The more I know, the more I can help.”

Stiles didn’t want to talk about his problems; he wanted to talk about how his friend would be helped. “Anyway. I guess the plan right now is to lock him in a cage for the rest of his life? It’s been two months since he’s been in there, and he doesn’t seem to be getting any better.” Stiles couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice any longer, even though he knew that she probably did not deserve it. “Maybe you should try something else?”

“Mr. Stilinski, may I call you Stiles?” 

“You can call me whatever you want, as long as you answer my question.”

The psychologist continued. “Do you not find his present behavior significant? You had to have noticed that on some level, he recognizes you. He is watching you, and not me, even now. He senses your anger and it concerns him.” Morrell’s voice was calm but firm, directing him to look back at Scott. A brief glance confirmed that Scott’s own gaze was fixed on him.

Stiles couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the look in Scott’s eyes. The gaze was empty of anything resembling thought, but it was still his friend’s face. Every time he met those eyes, he would look away, and then he would feel this overwhelming guilt. “Are you going to tell me what the chances are that I will get him back? What are you going to do to get him back? No one will tell me anything.”

Morrell did not look at her patient; he thought she was staring at him as if she were taking him part, analyzing each piece. “Stiles, I can answer those questions in one of two ways: optimistically or realistically. Tell me which one you would prefer to hear.”

Stiles tore his gaze away from both the floor and the cell to lock his eyes with Morrell’s. It was easier this way. “I guess I must feel a little masochistic today. Tell me the realistic version.”

“A werewolf becomes feral either when they cease to make any attempt to control their aggressive urges, when they are focused only on satisfying their needs, or when they cannot tolerate the trauma to which they have been subjected. They shut down human considerations as a coping mechanism; in a feral state, past events lose their ability to cause pain.” Morrell exuded a clinical tone that reminded Stiles nothing more than the doctors who had talked to his father about his mother’s illness. He did notice that she always referred to werewolves as people, which he liked. “When we examined Scott after he was captured ... “

“Rescued!” Stiles spat the words out. 

“When we examined Scott after he was rescued, we found evidence of physical abuse. I do not believe you can understand how much abuse of that nature would have had to be endured for there to be traces remaining in a person that heals as quickly as a werewolf. Such sustained pain might be sufficient to cause severe psychological damage by itself. Yet we also have eyewitness reports of severe emotional abuse, and we have also have evidence, though not conclusive evidence, of sexual abuse.”

“What!” Stiles tried to stand up at that; sometimes he forgot that he couldn’t stand up any more. His shout was enough to get Scott to retreat to the back of the cell. Morrell continued to calmly look at him as if she were discussing the weather. “No one … no one told me that.” 

“It should be obvious to you why no one told you that,” Morrell stated. Stiles didn’t know what to make of that statement, but it wasn't obvious to him. He was getting pretty tired of everything in his life right now: the things that were being hidden from him, the tone of her voice, this dingy room, this goddamn wheelchair. “Given that this intense level of abuse happened over a two-week period, coupled with the knowledge of what he had done at the high school, I cannot be surprised that he reacted the way he did. From reports I have received, his captor was counting on it.”

Stiles swallowed. Now, he couldn’t look at the cell even for a second. “What are you going to do?”

“I have a number of therapies that I would like to try, but the most important factor in his recovery might simply be time. His human mind is not gone; it is simply dormant. Feral werewolves frequently do not last long outside of custody because they will inevitably either fall afoul of other werewolves, hunters, or the authorities. In time, the rest of him may resurface, especially if the source of the abuse has been removed.” 

“Damn straight that fucker has been removed,” Stiles gritted. “And the chances for recovery?”

Morrell did not choose to comfort, which was good, because he didn’t want comfort. “I would estimate that there is a twenty-five percent chance he’ll regain the capacity for human thought. Otherwise, he’ll be like this for the rest of his life.”

That was when he threw up. He hadn’t eaten much, so there wasn’t much of a mess, and he did not even apologize. He just lent over the side of his chair and retched. If it bothered Morrell, she did not react. There was a whining from the cell, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it. 

“Sorry about that, but thank you, doctor. I appreciate honesty.” He looked around for something to clean up the mess.

“You are welcome, Stiles, but I do not believe you will appreciate what I am going to tell you next.” She waited to continue until she caught his eye. “I think it best that you do not visit him any more until there is a change in his condition.”

Stiles looked at her for a moment in confusion. “Do you think … why? Why would you think that?” 

“He is not the only victim here. Your own mental health is also important, not only to me but also to your family. From what I have been told, you have a history of internalizing tragedies in a way that enables you to take responsibility for them. I would like to avoid that reaction in the present situation.”

“You can tell my dad I’m just fine and he can stop trying to manage my feelings.” Stiles knew exactly where this came from. His father, once he had dragged all the details out of his son in a thorough interrogation, decided that Stiles would try to blame Scott’s present condition on himself. Dad had tried to make it sound like he was just repeating past mistakes. Stiles believed that this time wasn't like his mother's death; this time it really was his fault, and he knew it. 

“I want to offer you unsolicited counseling, Stiles, if I may. Many people can see how hurt you are by this.” 

“Have all the adults in my life been having meetings to discuss their favorite awkward teen’s emotional hang-ups?” He sniped. “Is there a clubhouse? A secret handshake? Pot-luck dinners?”

“Yes. We have met quite regularly; this situation does not fall with the boundaries of mundane occurrence. The people with whom I meet want only what is best for all of you. Many of them feel that they let two teenage boys handle problems with which grown men would have difficulty. Don’t you agree that you need to talk to someone?”

“I think I am doing just fine. Other than today. I mean, I guess, yeah, this was harder than I thought, but I don’t think that’s weird, is it?”

Morrell just looked at him. “What about your refusal to accept prosthesis?”

Stiles shrugged. “None of them were comfortable. They have to be comfortable, right? How am I supposed to walk on something that makes me hurt.”

Morrell looked at him as if she thought that was the lamest lie she had ever heard. “Are you going to be stubborn or are you going to talk to me?”

Stiles would absolutely rather be stubborn, but she did have the power to prevent him from visiting Scott, so he nodded. “I am talking, but I think you mean you want me to listen. I’ll listen.”

“I see three possible ways that you can move forward from here, Stiles. The first way is the one that you are pursuing now. I think you are planning to visit as often as you can, to sit in this room and keep watch, hoping that one day Scott will suddenly remember your name and everything will be like it was. You are not the first person who thinks that devotion makes a difference.” She did not say that it would not. “You think that suffering by refusing to get prosthesis …”

Stiles protested that once again. “They’re just not comfortable. They don’t fit.”

“I think you think you don’t deserve to walk again. You think you shouldn’t be able to enjoy your life in any way because he can’t. You know this is not new pathology for you, Stiles, and it is not uncommon in cases like this as well.” She says things in a weird way, slowly and precisely, as if she is making sure he can’t mistake their meaning. “I predict you will be able to keep this up for a few months – maybe until school starts again. If you are strong enough, perhaps you will be able to do this for a year or two. Eventually, you may begin to feel resentment and anger for what has happened, for your inability to affect the outcome, and then you will begin to transfer those emotions to other situations. You’ve done this in the past, but you aren’t eight years old anymore, Stiles. You are not as flexible as you were then, and people will not be as accepting as they were then. If nothing changes, you will end up isolating yourself. If nothing changes, you will squander the opportunities life presents you. If nothing changes, and there is a distinct possibility that nothing will change, you will be party to wasting two lives, and not just one.”

Stiles had been listening to her speech with pressure slowly building inside his skull. “I would like to take this moment to point out that you are an enormous bitch; was that an emotional transfer? “ It only stings because while he cannot believe that she is one-hundred percent correct, he knows she is not one-hundred percent incorrect. 

Marin looked at him as if all he had said was that her shoes did not match her outfit. “An aggressive reaction to a pointed observation is not unusual in counseling, Stiles. If you did not react to what I said, I would assume you were not really listening. The second option I see for you is going home.” 

“Well, that’s helpful.” Stiles made his best what-the-fuck face. “I will be going home right after we finish this lovely chat.”

Morrell was unimpressed. “Your world has changed, but you can take charge of that change. You can overcome your disability. You can continue to do well in school. You can act as if you do not know what you have learned about the world. You can reclaim as much as your life as possible from before this January.”

“So, you suggest that I just pretend all this did not happen? That’s your suggestion?”

“I am suggesting that it is one possible way for you to move forward is to transform it from something you cannot control to something you can control.”

Stiles sat still to take her words in and not respond immediately with sarcasm. He could do it, he supposed. He could take that way out. He could just move on. “And so, just say ‘fuck him?’ That’s the cost, isn’t it?” He rotated the chair with one hand so his back was to the cell. “That’s what you are saying to me. I can go live my life, but I have to give him up.”

“If you think that I am right, then, yes, that is the cost. According to what I have learned from people who care about you, I do not think you can keep coming here and not feel guilty. I think that if you keep coming here, trying to change something over which you have no control, you will never recover.”

Stiles fidgeted. That he even considered agreeing with her felt wrong. It felt like treachery; it felt like the first time he had come home from school and not been sad that his mother wasn’t there. How could someone sit there and just say ‘move on’ like it was time to buy a new computer. This wasn’t a thing, it was a person.

He said quietly. “You said you saw three ways. What’s the third?”

“Before I describe it, I would like to ask you a question. Before that night in the school, did you feel helpless?”

Stiles considered the question while staring at the wall. Before that night, what did he feel? He had been frightened, of course. He had been excited, of course. But it was he who had figured out what was going on with Scott. It was he who taught Scott how to control himself. “No. I wasn’t helpless. I helped Scott when he needed it. I helped Derek when he needed it. It felt good, actually.” He shrugged. “Until it didn’t.”

“And that is the problem with the third possibility, Stiles. It is not safe; if you choose this way forward you will be in as just as much danger as you were during Peter Hale’s rampage. You will have to step completely into the world that you have only truly visited. Once you enter, you will find it very difficult to leave. Once you learn what you need to learn, you won’t be able to unlearn it.”

Stiles sat up straighter as she talked; she had not gotten to her conclusion yet, but he felt he had figured out where she was going. “Are you talking about what you and Dr. Deaton are?” He thought it strange that she was offering it as if it were the worst possible choice. Since that night in the hospital, he had tried to find out more about Deaton. The man had been unhelpful. It only made sense that his sister was in the same line of work, since she was obviously comfortable being a werewolf psychologist, which was apparently a thing.

“I am. Alan believes you have the potential to learn what we have learned and to serve as we serve. You could – and should – still go to high school. You could – and should – still go to college. But while you are doing this, Alan and I are offering to teach you what we know, as we were once taught.”

“Why would I want that?” Stiles suddenly screamed at her. Morrell jumped in her chair; Scott growled from behind him. “Where were you when we needed you? Why did you let this happen?”

Morrell regained her composure. “That is a very good question. All I can promise you is, if you consider this possibility, that you might be there when someone else needs you. You might be able to prevent something like this from happening. That is all this path offers; the knowledge and wisdom to be able to help. ”

“You want me, a spastic sophomore with ADHD and one leg, to be one of you? Someone whom you’ve just described as an emotional basket case? Recruiting pool looking a little thin?”

“Physical limitations can be overcome. You have a quick mind. You possess a fierce loyalty. You do not shy away from confronting the shades of right and wrong. You have a natural talent.” She stands up. “Visiting hours are going to end soon. You should take some time to think about it. Talk to your father. Go to Alan when you have an answer.”

She left the room quietly pulling the door shut. 

Stiles sat there in his chair. He was suddenly very tired; today had been rather exhausting. He had a lot to think about. As he wheeled himself to the door, he thought about saying something witty to Scott—whose eyes he could feel following him. It is something he would have done before. It was something he loved doing before, but the idea that it would be wasted made it catch in his throat. 

He left the room without saying anything else.

 

JACKSON WHITTEMORE:

Jackson watched Stilinski wheel himself out of the room. “Wow, that’s cold, McCall. Someone’s trying to steal your boyfriend.” He knew he said it to just to say something that would dispel his own discomfort; old habits die hard. At that thought, he laughed out loud. 

He had become aware during the conversation between Stilinski and Morrell. Jackson was surprised to learn that while ghosts did not actually sleep, they did lose consciousness. He called it ‘zoning out.’ Whenever he became aware again, he found he may not necessarily be where he had lost consciousness. Whenever he became aware again, he was either where Lydia was or here in the cell with McCall.

Scott looked up from where he was in the corner, cocking his head at his words. It had taken Jackson a while to figure out that McCall was like Lydia. The werewolf could see him even if he did not try to be seen. Most people could not see him unless he wanted them to, and it was actually tiring to make people see him unless Lydia or Scott was present.

“I know you probably don’t understand me, you dumb mutt, but …” He trailed off. He had said the same thing maybe a dozen times over the last couple of months. Weirdly, it still made Jackson nervous that Scott could see and hear him, even now. Now that he was dead. 

“What do I have to be nervous about? I know why you can see me when other people can’t. You can see me because you’re the one who murdered me.” He had said that before, as well. He went over and sat on the cot in the room, even though he didn’t quite understand how that worked, yet. He could walk through walls, but floors and furniture supported him without him thinking about it.

Scott crawled or scooted over – Jackson couldn’t tell exactly how to describe it – and reached out a hand to touch him. He couldn’t, of course. The werewolf made a startled grunt when his hand passed through, just as it had the other times.

“Keep your paws to yourself. It isn’t going to work this time either. Too bad you are just so dumb, that you’ll keep trying.” He knew that nothing about this was fair, but he also knew that Scott couldn’t understand what his words meant. 

He looked around at the cell. “This place stinks, McCall. Early Modern Craphole. If I wasn’t trying really hard not to get clingy on Lydia, I would go over there. It’s funny. Before all of this shit, I was thinking of breaking up with her, because I was getting tired of her.” He nodded to his audience; after a while, he had realized he just needed to talk to someone who could hear him once in a while. He wasn’t surprised that ghosts were lonely; he never imagined though that being a ghost could get so boring. “Imagine my surprise when I heard her voice. She called to me, because she really, really loves me. I was fucking shocked, I shit you not.” 

“You know, she wasn’t even awake when she did it. Right after that bastard bit her, she just called. Not with her voice. I don’t even remember where I was, ‘cause like it had been a week. And then, bam, I’m right there.”

Jackson noticed that Scott was paying a lot more attention to him than he did to the conversation outside the glass. He wished, not for the first time, that he had paid more attention in biology. Too late now, he supposed; he was going to have figure out what was going on by himself, and that had never been his strong suit.

It was very annoying that Scott kept trying to touch him. He couldn’t, of course; suddenly Jackson understood that Moaning Myrtle scene from one of those Harry Potter movies.

Reflexively, he tried to push the hand away. “Quit it.” To his surprise, he found that both of them actually felt it; he had moved Scott’s hand. “Wow. That’s new. Or just something I haven’t figured out before.” 

He suddenly felt happy, which was ridiculous. He thought ghosts were supposed to be either sad or angry all the time, and while he could be sad or angry, it had not been as overwhelming as expected. In fact, if he admitted it to himself, Jackson was actually a lot more at ease now that he was dead. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“McCall,” he observed to the feral werewolf next to him, “we are seriously fucked up.”

 

ALLISON ARGENT:

A noise in the house woke her. This was strange as the house since she had come here had been so quiet. People crept around to make sure she wasn’t disturbed. Part of her appreciated the effort as she was in a great deal of pain and she would rather sleep through it than be drugged all the time. 

It was night, and Allison could not be sure what the sound was, but she was glad she was awake. As much as being awake was painful, she knew she was spending too much time asleep. She had spent too much time in hospitals. Her hand went to her face; there were still bandages there, and there would be for at least another two months. There would be only one more surgery, and then they assured her that she would have her face back.

She was not sure that she believed them. Between the surgeries, when she could, she took the bandages off and looked at her face. Sometimes, she had cried. Sometimes, she had been angry with him, with her family, with everybody. Sometimes, she had been angry with herself for being so vain. She had even once thought the scars made her look badass. 

She had watched over time as they pieced the left side of her face back together. She knew it would never be the same as it was before, and she realized – she didn’t want it to be the same. Things had changed; it seemed only right that she should change as well.

She slid out of bed and put on a robe; it was colder in Washington, but she heard that noise again. She finally identified it as raised voices; she recognized both her grandfather’s and her father’s. She moved quickly for she hadn’t seen her father often since she had come here. The few times he had visited he hadn’t stayed for long and she had been still recovering from surgery, so the talks had been short and light. He had left tokens to know he was there, that he and her mother were thinking of her. But it had been so long since she had actually been able to just talk to her parents in a normal conversation. They had so much to talk about.

She started out of her room at a normal pace, but something in the tone of the voices below made her slow down. They weren’t talking; they were fighting, and she wanted to know what they were fighting about before she went downstairs.

Gerard Argent spoke with a barely concealed fury that Allison could perceive all the way upstairs. “Sometimes, I have no idea where I went wrong when it came to you. How could you and Victoria even think that this would be an acceptable outcome?”

Her father answered blandly. “I am not sure what you mean by that.”

She could not see them from her position in the second-floor hallway, but she could imagine them. She had met Gerard while she was recovering. He had been okay, she guessed, but she got the feeling that he tried to act like a grandfather not because he wanted to, but because he was expected to. Or that she expected him to. 

“Your sister is dead, Chris! I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that she was burned alive. Five of our hunters are dead. Six civilians are dead, including a high school junior. One of their killers is still alive.”

“Peter Hale, the alpha responsible for the deaths – all of the deaths – is dead and buried. And I know what happened to Kate, but if she had done what she was told to do, she would not be dead.” She hears her father’s unspoken words: She died because of her own choices.

“Yes, Peter Hale died, but not by your hand. You let Derek Hale kill him. You let another Hale become alpha, knowing what it meant for your family.” Gerard’s accusation rings through the house. “What makes you think he won’t do the same thing his uncle did?”

“Logic. Derek Hale helped us stop his uncle. He chose to work with Victoria and me even knowing what our family was responsible for the destruction of his family. He was the safest choice. Far safer than letting the position descend to a sixteen-year-old boy tortured into madness.” 

Allison put a hand to her mouth. No one had told her about what had happened to Scott. What did her father mean by that?

“He could have been dealt with as well. Scott McCall was a legitimate target by the Code.” Gerard sneered. 

“I am beginning to think that we have vastly different interpretations of the Code. The boy was bitten without his consent. He was subjected to extreme abuse by an insane alpha to turn him into a feral killer, and he’s now in a mental-health facility for what is most likely the rest of his life. How, by any stretch of the imagination, does that make him a legitimate target?” Her father responded coldly. “Or have you given up any pretense that you don’t desire genocide?”

Allison kept her hand over her mouth, but now it was not out of surprise. Her family was still keeping things from her, and if she was going to have to eavesdrop to find the truth, then she was going to do it. She bit her tongue hard; the new pain would keep her from crying out loud.

“It sounds like you’ve forgotten everything I have ever taught you.” 

“More like I am re-evaluating everything you ever taught me, Gerard. Forgive me, but I suspect finding out my sister burnt human children alive might give me a good reason to do that.”

As upset as Allison was, she did nod in agreement with her dad. She was relieved, of course, to realize that maybe he, too, was having second thoughts.

Gerard did not like what her father said one bit. She heard him walk over and pour himself a drink. “She did what she thought was necessary. What are you doing here, Chris, other than disappointing an old man?”

“I’m here to make arrangements for Victoria and I to move here, to be with Allison as she goes through her last surgery and try to make up for the fact that the way she got introduced to this life was the possibly the exact opposite of the way her mother and I planned it.”

Allison was definitely going to ask him what had been the plan, among other things, for she could not imagine when and how they were going to tell her. 

“I do not think that is going to happen, Chris,” said Gerard. “I think you and Victoria are going to stay right where you are and manage the mess you’ve made. You’ve got a Hale alpha, and eventually he will build a pack. Even if you mistakenly think he is your ally, you know he won’t be able to resist his instincts forever. “

She could not see her father’s face, but she realized that the way she knew him, that just might work. Whatever her father had hid from her, she knew he was a big believer in responsibility.

It seemed she was right. “Then I will get Allison and take her home. She’s been away from us too long. We can drive her up for her final surgery.” 

“No,” Gerard replied. “I don’t think that’s going to happen either.” 

Allison almost went to her room and started packing her bags, but then she heard the threat in her grandfather’s words. She decided to stay put for just a while longer. 

Her father must have given Gerard some form of non-verbal denial, because her grandfather continued. “Given that Allison is going to be the next matriarch of our family, I think it is important that she train in a safe environment. Since you haven’t begun her training yet, for some reason, she is going to need some intensive work to get up to speed. This can best be done outside of Beacon Hills.”

“Allison hasn’t made a choice if she is going to be a hunter or not, and if she does train, it will be my wife and I who train her.” 

Gerard didn’t raise his voice, but it was cold and threatening. “Chris, I am afraid that I will have to fight you on this. I’m not going to let you ruin this family.” 

“You don’t have any choice in the matter. Her mother and I are her legal guardians.”

“That is true. On the other hand, you know that I have nothing but her best interests at heart, as well. It would be very painful for me to have to employ my influence with our family’s allies and resources in an attempt to get you to reconsider your refusal.” Gerard did not sound regretful; he made it sound exactly what it was – a threat.

Her father did not talk to Gerard anymore and came up the stairs. Allison waited for him in the hallway and put her finger to her lips when he saw her and then gestures to the bedroom. She led him inside and shut the door. Once shut, she hugged him and whispered to him. “I love you.”

“Pack your things, Allison; I’m taking you home.” He was very tense. “You should hurry.”

“Dad, sit down.” She took him by the hand. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard the menace in the old man’s voice. “I heard Gerard threaten you. What can he do? Please don’t lie to me. There’ve been too many secrets in our family; it’s time for you to tell me the truth.”

Her father looked at her, studying her face, bandages and all. “As he said, he has a lot of influence with the family. If he really wanted to, he could isolate us, both financially and socially. But that doesn’t matter; you are coming home where you belong. Your mother and I promised ourselves that when the time came, you would be able to choose what you wanted. That is still true.”

Allison bit her lower lip; it stung when she did so, as facial movements also did. “I heard what you said about Scott. Is it true? He’s …” She swallowed. “He’s insane?”

Chris grimaced. “I was planning to tell you, but only after you had fully recovered. I know you are tired of hearing that, but it is true.” He looked away. “The alpha was insane. He needed to make Scott into a killer as quickly as possible to use him against us, and he pushed him too hard. The alpha didn’t really care what was left afterward.”

Allison closed her eyes and remembered a day walking in the preserve. She brushed something out of her eye. “Dad. Dad, that’s not fair. He wasn’t like that. What’s going to happen?”

“He’s in a hospital, and they are doing what they can, but you have to know, it doesn’t look good. Normal pharmaceutical treatments don’t work on werewolves, and honestly, I’ve never heard of an alpha purposefully driving one of his betas to become feral, so I can’t say what will happen. He may never get better.” He sighed. “You might not have any reason to believe me, but this is why our family exists.” 

Allison couldn’t make her mind accept what her father had told her. She touched her face. “What? What do you mean?”

“Allison, the point of our family is to protect people like Scott from monsters like Peter Hale. I do not hunt werewolves because they are werewolves; I hunt them because werewolves who don’t learn to control themselves will do terrible, terrible things.” He looked down at the floor. “If I had known he was a werewolf, especially one as young and as inexperienced as he was, I would have done everything I could to keep you separated from him, not because I thought your feelings for each other weren’t real, but because he, especially being so young, could always hurt you, which is what the alpha made him do. I know it wasn’t his fault – you should know that it wasn’t his fault – but he always had that potential.”

“But you let Derek Hale go,” she stated. “And you helped him become alpha.” She wanted to understand why he had done that. She hadn’t been there, but from what Kate and Gerard had told her, her father had killed a lot of werewolves; she didn’t see him helping one.

“Derek Hale had every reason to hate our family, Allison. Do you know what Kate did?” She nodded in response. “He had every reason to side with his uncle; he had every reason to try to kill us all himself. We’d cost him his entire family. He hates us; I think he’ll always hate us. But he saw what his uncle had done to his sister, he saw what his uncle had done to Scott, and he chose to help us. That takes control. Someone who could experience what he has and put his own rage aside to do what was right – the Code is clear. He is not someone to be hunted.”

Allison stood up and walked away from her father. She had had so much time to think about this. Now with Gerard’s threats ringing in her ears and her father’s information, she felt it had come to a point where she had to act. She could not sit back and let things happen anymore; she had to participate.

“Allison? We need to get ready to leave.”

“Dad, I don’t think I can put off the choice any more, and I think it has been taken away from me. I can’t just pretend to be a normal teenager any more. I can’t stand the thought of people like Peter and Kate hurting people like Scott and Jackson and all the other people they hurt and killed.” She shakes her head. “I’ve talked with Gerard. He’d kill Derek and Scott if he could. Right?”

Chris nods. “He would. I think he blames them for Kate.”

“And if he isolates you, he might do it anyway, wouldn’t he?” She asked. “He’d do it just to spite you.”

“Maybe, but that’s not your problem.”

Allison says firmly. “Yes, it’s my problem. I’ve made my choice, and we’re going to protect people who don’t deserve to be killed by monsters. I’m going to stay here, and I’m going to let Gerard train me.” Suddenly, she yelled at him. “HE MAIMED MY FACE!”

Her father was taken aback for a moment and then he must have realized what she had planned. “No.”

“Dad, Gerard isn’t going to stop unless he thinks he’s winning. He’s willing to hurt you and Mom to do it. I heard it in his voice. And I have to be trained anyway.”

“I am not letting you stay here without us.” His father stood up. “You can’t ask me to do that. He will twist you like he twisted Kate. Like he tried to twist me.”

“Dad, I want to do this. I can learn from the best, but he can’t twist me like Kate. Because of you. Because of Mom.” She reached out for his hands. “At least let me stay until the surgeries are finished. Maybe Gerard will calm down. And if I don’t think I can do it, then I will call you.” She pulled them together. “I don’t know if I could go back to Beacon Hills. I don’t know if I could go to school there. Not if I knew I could stop something like that from happening again. That’s not your fault either.”

Her father argued with her for about a half hour. Everyone once in a while she would yell something to make it sound like they were fighting. Eventually, she out-lasted her father.

“Your mother is going to kill me.”

“No, she won’t. I think she will understand what I am going to do. And it is not like we won’t see each other.” Allison smiled. 

Chris suddenly shook his head. “I don’t know if I will be able to let you stay beyond the end of your surgeries.”

She kissed him on the side of the cheek. “All you need to do is trust me.” 

 

LYDIA MARTIN:

Beacon Hills High School had a social structure. In its way, it was just like every other high school, middle school, elementary school, small college, social club, etc. in the entire world. There are those who are the arbiters of the social structure and there are those who are outside of the social structure, and then there is the vast undifferentiated mass that was part of the social structure but not in control of it.

Up until recently, one of the arbiters of the social structure had always been Lydia Martin. She dated the captain of the winning lacrosse team; she held forth on the fashion choices of the people who tried to make an impression with their fashion choices; she rated the quality and desirability of the parties that people wanted to attend. There are many people who thought that the murder of her boyfriend and her own kidnapping and assault would have left her fragile and unable to occupy the same position in the structure; they thought it was time for new blood to take her place.

They thought wrong.

There was a period of three weeks after she had woken up out of her coma when she was quiet. She caught up with her classes; she spent her time at home. She attended a funeral. Then, one Monday, she walked in and told everyone that the theme of her birthday party would be “Spring Gardens,” and that she was expecting everyone who was going to come to wear a flower that they thought was the most beautiful. Any opposition to her idea was met with her customary sharp tongue. The word spread around school was that Lydia Martin was back. 

Of course, she had to do things properly. She let it drop into the ears of the girls most inclined to gossip that she was not going to date anyone this semester, and any boy who asked would not only never ever get a chance with her but also get a crash course in abject humiliation. She told just enough of the situation to just enough people that the story that she wished to spread would be spread at the right rate and with the right emphasis. If she returned to normalcy too quickly, she would seem callous. If she let things hang too long, she would seem weak.

Her parents and her psychologist – sigh – had thought she was hiding her pain beneath her old self, masking the process of healing. They would not understand, and she frankly would not spend the time making them understand, that reasserting her position within the school was the process of healing. Physical pain went away. What hadn’t gone away was the loss of identity. She’d been made a victim, and the scant time she spent as a victim was quite long enough. That feeling she was done with. Returning to her position as Lydia Martin would mean that no one had taken anything away from her.

Mourning for Jackson was something else. But then again, she hadn’t actually lost Jackson, though she told no one but Dr. Deaton and Stiles Stilinski about the change in their relationship. It was between her and Jackson; it was no one else’s business. When she had time, she had begun reading books recommend to her by the veterinarian about ghosts; she understood the vast majority of information out there was hogwash. 

At school, she had asked everyone to understand that she wished her mourning to be kept private, and that, when possible, she would prefer if he was not brought into the conversation. She explained that it was better this way. 

She had retaken her position before the end of the school year, as planned. There were, of course, some hiccups. For example, there was the day she had destroyed Anne Pritchard.

Anne had made a terrible mistake of saying the following on one of the first days Stiles was wobbling around school on a single crutch and his new artificial leg. Some innocuous boy had made a remark that it looked painful for him; Anne decided to be scathing. “Well, the little freak should have chosen his friends better, I mean, really.”

It was a cutting remark by a thoughtless girl who found cheap cutting remarks to be her way of proving her social worth. Lydia, however, was unimpressed.

She stopped in the middle of the hallway in such a manner that the group with her knew they had to stop as well. She turned her head to the left and up as if she smelled raw sewage coming from a nearby classroom. “Anne. I am afraid I did not quite hear what you said. Would you care to repeat it, because I totally missed your point.” Her voice was ice; her tone clearly announced to the general vicinity that Anne had fucked up beyond all recognition. 

“Uhhh,” Anne back-pedaled, “I was just saying …”

Lydia suddenly had the urge to slap Anne right in her face – no, more than slap, to grab her by the hair and smash her into a locker. She fought that down; words were far more effective.

“Yes? Because, I thought I heard you blaming Stiles for what happened to him. Which I am sure someone like you would never ever do, as that would not only be wrong, but also indescribably tacky. I mean, Anne, you are smart enough to realize that you don’t know what happened, and you will never know what happened, and if you would ever try to judge the people involved in this or even make fun of Stiles Stilinski in any way, someone like me would have to so totally destroy you that you would be forced to beg your parents to transfer you to some other school. And I know, Anne, since we’ve been friends for such a very long time, that you would never do something so phenomenally stupid. Would you?”

Anne agreed with a nod and fallen silent. 

“See,” Lydia went on, “the stereotype about the popular kids trying to puff themselves up by picking on those less fortunate is so totally bogus. I am glad we cleared that up.” 

Word had spread quickly after that to her the upper level of the social structure that talking about McCall or picking on Stilinski was forbidden if you did not want to be destroyed by Lydia Martin. 

There were no further incidents like that for the rest of the semester, but there was one confrontation for Lydia that was of a very different and more personal nature. 

She was studying in the library when a backpack fell into the seat across from her and a chair slid out. “So, I’ve heard you started the Scott McCall Fan Club.”

“Hello, Danny. Thanks for asking how my afternoon is going. Of course, you may sit down and join me.” She did not even look at him; she just focused on her history notes.

Danny was in a mood. “So, you aren’t going to say anything?” 

“So, you are going to keep being rude?” She looked up. “What is your problem? There is no way you can take what I have been doing as creating a club of any kind. I just exercised my authority over a bunch of teenagers.”

Danny just glared at her. “This stinks. Not just what you are doing, but the whole thing. The whole story, the whole trial, it doesn’t add up. Everyone wants to believe it because everyone wants it to go away.”

She glanced at him. “And you don’t?”

“No.” He looked down at the desk. “You were at the funeral. You saw how many people came.” There had been far fewer people than they had imagined. She remembered the number of empty chairs and the embarrassment of Jackson’s parents. Lydia had been surprised; now she knew that Danny was surprised by it as well. Jackson had told her that he not been surprised; he had expected it. That was the sad part.

“I was there. What has that to do with why you are angry with me?”

“You’ve talked about the asshole that killed him more than you’ve talked about him,” Danny gritted. “Everyone has. He’s gone, and everyone is content to just forget about it. I guess I could expect it from a lot of those jealous pricks, but not you.”

Lydia froze up. He wasn’t gone, not for her. She knew if she spoke his name right now, he would come for her. It was creepy and comforting at the same time. She wondered for a moment if she should do it, should ask Jackson to show Danny that he wasn’t gone. But she didn’t think that would do any good. Not yet.

“Daniel Mahealani, you don’t get to tell me how I should feel. You don’t get to tell me how to grieve. You don’t get to tell me anything when I was there and you weren’t.” She slammed her history book closed. “I was there. I know what happened.”

“Then why don’t you tell me the truth.”

“The truth is that I saw people murdered right in front of my eyes, not once, but twice. I know who is responsible, and I am not going to pretend otherwise because you want someone to hate. The bad guy is dead.” She stood up. 

“That’s not the truth. I’m going to find out the truth. Someone has to care.” Danny shrugged. “And if that asshole gets out of the hospital, maybe I’ll kill him.”

Lydia walked out. She did not believe Danny’s threat, but she understood the hurt was real. She just had to decide what she was going to do about it.

 

STILES STILINSKI:

Stiles hung up the phone, leaning up against the tree in agony. “Well,” he gasped, “the doctors told me not to overdo it, so I had to go and overdo it. Oh, my god, I’m gonna die. I’m gonna fall over and die.” He tried to look casual to the people passing him on the street, smiling though his grimaces and giving a few non-committing waves. He had walked too far for too long and his left leg was going to explode.

He felt it was completely logical for him to have gone for a walk. While he could drive again, because thank anyone who was out there that it had been his left leg and not his right one, once he had decided that he was going to prove everyone wrong and get the damn prosthesis, he was going to master it right now. And you master things by doing it a lot. Right? Right.

Of course, it was not just his urge to master the leg. He also had walked past the house and saw the sign. Maybe he should have just gone home. Maybe he should have called. He tried to get up the nerve to go up and knock, but he just couldn’t, so he walked around the block maybe ten times.

The sheriff’s car pulled up alongside him. He grimaced and moved towards it. “Sorry, Dad. I … I thought I was okay, until I wasn’t.”

His father examined him. He hated that this was his dad’s new habit – examining him to see if he was more busted. “Where were you going?”

He thought about ignoring the question. Stiles was still mad at him, but he didn’t feel petty right then. “Just for a walk. I thought it would help me get used to things.” He slid his crutch into the back seat. “And then, well. Drive around the block and I’ll show you.”

His father didn’t argue and did what he requested. He also didn’t look surprised when Stiles pointed out the For Sale sign in the McCall’s front yard. The sheriff gave him a look that said he already knew.

“I haven’t said more than two dozen words to her since it happened. I thought that maybe I should say something before she was gone. I tried to think of what to say, so I walked around the block.” He shrugged. “I never did think of what to say, so I walked around the block ten or so times. Overdid it.”

“I see.” His father understood, but he did not pursue it any farther at that point. He probably realized that Stiles was still mad at him. “Should I take you home?” 

Stiles nodded. It was quiet in the car. They were not having shouting matches anymore – it had subsided into uncomfortable isolation. Finally his father said “You shouldn’t be surprised that she’d move. I heard she is going to live with some of her relatives.”

Stiles shrugged. “That’s not the problem. Of course, she’d move. The problem is my inability to say anything to her.”

“Stiles, you have to believe me. In situations like these, there isn’t much you can say." His dad sighed once again. “It wasn’t easy for me to talk to her, but she knew how I feel, and she knows how you feel.”

“Oh? And how do I feel?” This was the point of the tension between them. Stiles was adamant that his dad was trying to manage his emotions like they were a problem that could be resolved. The sheriff honestly believed he was trying to help his son work past trauma. 

“Are we going to do this again?” 

“Most likely,” Stiles snarked back. “We’ll keep doing it until you get it that you can ground me, you can take away my car, you can punish me anyway you want, but you are never, ever going to get me to think that this isn’t the biggest pile of bullshit …”

“I did what I had to do. I did what was best for the most people!”

“I get that. You think I don’t get that, but I do. I get it, but I can’t like it. I can’t accept that this is the way that the world has to work.” He shrunk down in his seat. “You can’t make me be happy; I know that’s what you want, that’s all you want, for me not to be miserable again. But that’s not something you can do.” 

Stiles turned away, watching out the window as they drove towards home. His leg ache; his head hurt. His father focused on the wheel and the road out in front. 

He finally said in a quiet voice. “You know, I’m getting a suspicion that you think I think you screwed up. That you did the wrong thing. I don’t. I respect what you did. What you had to do. You had to hurt some people to protect others. You had to make choices that I couldn’t make – that I wouldn’t make. You’re stronger than I am.” 

Her father looked over at him. “Stiles, it is my job to protect you. It’s my job to protect this town.”

“Yep.” He popped the ‘p’ bitterly. “But you can’t protect me from the consequences of your decisions; not this time and maybe not ever again. It is never, ever going to be all right. Unfortunately, I have to decide what happens next.”

They pulled into the driveway of the house. His father stopped the car but he did not make a move to get out. Neither did Stiles. 

“So, son. What comes next?” 

“You know, I’ve been talking with Dr. Deaton and Ms. Morrell. Really, it was Ms. Morrell that started it. She’s the one who has banned me from visiting Scott at Eichen House.”

“I didn’t ask her to do that. I just asked for her help.” The sheriff vowed. “I just …”

“Yeah, I know what you wanted. And, as much as I hate to admit it, she was right. There’s no point in going there if I’m just going to beat myself up about it. If there isn’t anything I can do.” Stiles looked at the house and all the memories contained within it. 

After a few moments, he started again. “You know when I make you eat your vegetables, I really want you to be healthier. That’s the goal. But it also helps me; it’s something I can do to help you. I can get you to treat yourself better. It always helped, after Mom died.”

“I know that. I’ve always known.” 

“There is something I can do now, something like that, and I think I am going to do it. I think I have to do it.” Stiles paused. “I know you are going to hate it. Hell, I may end up hating it, but no one can see the future.”

The sheriff was all attention and seriousness now. Stiles couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. “You are going to have to say more than that. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Dr. Deaton and Ms. Morrell have offered to train me to be one of them – an Emissary.” He says it quickly. “I am thinking about saying yes.” He looks at the house and contemplates how quickly he could get out of the car and avoid the rest of the conversation. It was not as fast as he used to be able to.

“What does that mean?” His father went for a neutral tone in his voice.

“According to Dr. Deaton, every werewolf pack is supposed to have an Emissary. They serve as advisors to the alpha, helping them make decisions and deal with living in a world controlled by humans. Deaton was the Hale Family Emissary. I don’t know about Ms. Morrell.”

His father frowned. “Why would you want to keep yourself involved? I don’t have any choice, not now. But haven’t you already been through enough?” 

“Why did you become a cop, Dad? I’m gonna answer that, because you’ve told me the story a bunch of times. Because you know that the world is better when there are people who are willing to stand up for how things are supposed to be. Even if you never catch a robber or stop a murderer, you said, people are better off knowing that there are cops out there. It reminds them that they aren’t alone; it warns people thinking of breaking the law that they could get caught.”

“I talked to Deaton. After the fire, he decided he was done, out of the game. Emissaries are allowed to do that if their alpha lets them go, and his was dead. So he pretended he did not know anything; to anyone who asked, he was a veterinarian. He didn’t seek out Derek when he came to town. He never checked on Peter. He was – by his own words – minimally helpful to Laura.” Stiles had heard this from Deaton’s own mouth. “It was not his problem anymore. And now, now he says that he knows he could have helped if he had not been so selfish. I don’t think he could have stopped Peter, but he does. He knows he is going to have to live with the knowledge of that for the rest of his life.”

“I know what is going on. I have a reason to be involved. I have, according to Deaton and Morrell, some sort of talent. But most of all, if I can stop something like this from happening again, I think it would make me … happy. Is that selfish?”

The sheriff said. “Son, that’s not selfish. I can’t say that I’m happy, and I can’t say yet that I approve. I‘m going to talk to Deaton, and I’m going to ask him.”

“Yeah. I expected as much, and so does he. But, I have one other person to talk to before I make my final decision.” He rolls his eyes. “And I hope he doesn’t throw me up against a wall when I do it.”

 

JACKSON WHITTEMORE:

“Why is this my afterlife?” Jackson laughed bitterly. Now he knew why ghosts in the movies turned into creepy serial-killing well-girls or threw people through plate-glass windows. They had obviously been subjected to the boring melodrama of other people’s lives until they went crazy. He had spent the afternoon with Lydia and her parents; they were doing family stuff for her sake. He finally decided that Lydia was a much better person than he was because she managed to simply glide through the experience of her mother’s and father’s petty sniping as if it was the sound of wind chimes. He had sat near her on an unused chair and tried to be supportive, but finally, she had given him a smile like a search light and told him he could go, when her parents weren’t paying attention. 

He had actually wandered around town for a while, though he always felt the tug of his two anchors. It was a lazy, late May Saturday afternoon. He could see but not feel the sun; he saw the trees move but he couldn’t feel the wind. Eventually, walking around outside would have made him frustrated, and he realized he did not want to feel frustrated. Luckily for him, there was always one person who had it worse than he did, and he could just let himself be drawn to Scott. It was better than being jealous of the living.

When he returned to the cell, something was happening that he hadn’t witnessed before. This pleased him enormously, as it was better than just sitting there and trying to keep Scott from pawing at him for hours at a time. And he wouldn’t have to zone out. 

Ms. Morrell, the super-creepy psychologist, was supervising two orderlies getting Scott into clean clothes. The werewolf looked dazed and unresponsive. Jackson had been around before when he had been gassed so the hospital workers had to get into the cell to take care of things. Scott wouldn’t be able to do much of anything for a few minutes. 

He then saw Morrell take a hypodermic and inject Scott in the neck. “This should keep him suppressed for three hours, long enough for the visit.” They lifted him up bodily and set him in a wheelchair. 

“This looks more interesting than watching the walls rot,” Jackson said to Scott. It was not necessarily an exaggeration. When he said it though, he thought he saw the psychologist react. She frowned but led the orderlies out. Had she heard him?

Strangely enough, even after all these months of residing with Scott in Eichen House, Jackson could still get lost. It was something about this place; it got him confused. If Scott hadn’t been in here and they hadn’t been so closely bound, he doubted he could find his way around.

It looked like they were taking him to the supervised visitation area. Jackson wondered what had changed to merit this. Every other visit had been in the cell because, well, they had no idea what Scott would react to as a threat. 

He heard the psychologists talking to the visitors and that is when he realized it was Scott’s parents. Jackson decided to hang back. Not only would it be super awkward to eavesdrop on this visit, but it also made him think about his own parents. He had seen them at the funeral, of course – that whole day had been so totally surreal – but he had also visited them at home, once. He could only stomach it once. Jackson wished he could go back and have done a few things a little differently. He wished he had made them happier, because they certainly weren’t happy now.

This wasn’t going to be a happy visit either, he decided, as he watched from across the room. Scott’s father sat stiffly on one side, while his mother tried to talk to him. He knew that Melissa was a nurse at the hospital, but he did not know anything about his father. Supposedly, they had been divorced for a long time.

He couldn’t imagine what this was doing to them, because he could tell that Scott was drugged into some form of oblivion. He wasn’t even moving. Even then, Morrell was watching from a discrete distance and there were two orderlies ready to intervene if things turned sticky. This had to have been the worse idea ever.

Jackson was right. After a few agonizing moments, Morrell finally had pity on the couple and stepped forward. “Agent McCall, Ms. McCall, I did warn you that he had been not doing so well, recently.” She tried to sound reassuring; she never did sound reassuring, though. “It would not do well to get too upset.”

So, Jackson though, his father was some sort of police officer. Probably the reason they drugged Scott up, so a flash of eye or a bit of claw wouldn’t slip out and spoil the secret. He moved forward, out of some sort of morbid fascination with the scene. The drugs may protect the secret, but it had reduced the werewolf to what was essentially catatonia. 

Jackson watched as Melissa McCall almost begged her son to respond. It made him upset, when usually this type of thing made him uncomfortable and snappish. He wished that they would just end the scene already. Nothing was going to happen, and his parents were going to be devastated. 

Agent McCall got up and went to talk to Morrell. Rather than watch the scene at the desk, Jackson went over to listen to it. In a low voice, Morrell said in tone that barely hid her contempt: “I warned you this was not a good idea.”

“We’re his parents; we have the right to spend time with him.” Elder McCall liked to come out swinging, didn’t he?

Morrell was clearly done with this discussion. “I will give this five more minutes, and then I will return him to his room. This is doing no one any good.”

Jackson went back to the couch just to see Melissa holding Scott’s limp hand. He didn’t even look like he was aware of it. Jackson was starting to feel real uncomfortable about this. “Hey, just grab her hand. Give her something? I know you probably don’t even know who she is, but, come on, you can do that?” 

There was no response, but he remembered that he could actually push Scott when he couldn’t push over people. He bent down and got his own hands there, pushing the hand closed. It might not be much, but it might give Melissa a little comfort.

This was more difficult than he imagined. It wasn’t like he was very strong now, and he had the worst angle to get the hand closed. Still, as he pushed on the flesh, he could see the way it made the woman’s face light up. He redoubled his efforts as she called out to her ex-husband and the psychologist that he was gripping her hand.

So focused was he on making the gesture, he didn’t notice at first when his own hands actually went into Scott’s. This should not have been anything new because had actually walked through people before. It was unpleasant. This was different, however. He wasn’t going through; he was merging. He could actually feel the hand and the hand grasping it. He was experiencing physical sensation. 

“Oh, shit.” He said out loud. “Oh, shit, oh, shit.” He pulled his hand out and it slid out easily. He had actually taken control of the hand there for a moment. 

He moved back a few steps. He felt both elated and horrified. In fact, he could not stand being in the room anymore, so he fled through the halls of Eichen House. No one saw him, but he lost his way, as usual. He hated this place.

He waited for an hour or so; time has a way of getting away from you when you don’t talk to people or breathe. He then returned to the cell. Thankfully, Scott was indeed back, lying on the cot and still influenced by the drugs they had given him. He stood over him, studying the werewolf. 

“Come on,” he told himself. “Come on. Come on. Don’t do this.”

He had seen enough movies to know that it was supposedly something that ghosts could do. He had no idea how to do it; the afterlife did not actually come with an instruction manual. And, though he would never admit it, he would feel kind of bad doing this. I mean, it wasn’t his body and hadn’t Scott been through enough? 

Then again, hadn’t he been through enough? He was dead. He hadn’t even graduated high school. He would never get anything he wanted. McCall wasn’t even aware of his surroundings. It wasn’t stealing. It was more like borrowing. He remembered how long Morrell had said the injection would last. After all, possessing a body so drugged it couldn’t move wouldn’t be dangerous. 

Gritting his teeth, he climbed on top of the cot and laid down on the top of the body. This was going to be seriously awkward, because if the drugs wore off and Scott woke up, it would be terribly sexual. When the time passed, he remembered how it felt to put his hands into his hands, to take control. He relaxed into the body; there was some resistance, but not much – the mind was already damaged and asleep.

He opened eyes and spoke with a voice that was not his own. “I was right the first time, McCall. We are seriously fucked.”

 

STILES STILINSKI 

Stiles took a deep breath. It had taken a while for him to find this address. It was a loft in the middle of downtown. The building was more industrial in nature, but it did have an elevator and was handicapped acceptable. Stairs were going to be the enemy for the foreseeable future.

He knocked on the door, gripping the top of his cane with the other hand. He had moved quickly from the crutch to the cane because, well, the crutch got in the damn way all the time and the cane looked cooler. He thought about rapping on the door with the cane, but there was just so much schlock he could pull in one day. He needed to be cool. 

The sliding door opened and Derek Hale stood in front of him. He looks like he hadn’t shaved in a month and like he had slept in his clothes. “Stiles. What do you want?”

Stiles repeated his mantra to himself: polite and respectful, polite and respectful. Every interaction with Derek before and after the night at the school had been fraught with antagonism. “May I come in?” Perfect. 10/10. No snark.

Derek gave him a cold look. It was not his previous glares but it was far less warm than his talk when he was working with his dad. He stepped away from the door and silently invited him in.

Stiles made his way into the loft, taking the steps with as much dignity as he could muster. Months had passed since they had seen each other, and he was not planning on taking anything for granted. Alan had warned him that there might be changes to Derek’s personality due to him becoming alpha. “I was hoping we could talk, if you have time.”

Derek followed him down. “What do we have to talk about?” Yep, it was definitely less friendly between them.

Stiles turned to greet him. “We have a lot to talk about. So much that I am not sure where to begin, but I want to start by establishing the tone of this meeting.” God, he sounded like a business executive. Focus, he told himself, focus, focus, focus. “How are you? I meant--that is what people who know each other ask after not seeing each other for a while?” He bit the inside of his lip. He was so bad at this.

“Fine,” said Derek. Suddenly, Stiles saw Derek’s shoulders relax. He had no idea what that was about, but he hoped it was Derek remembering he wasn’t an enemy. “Will you sit down?”

Stiles did that and put his cane to one side. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath, but before he could cotinue, Derek suddenly asked him a question.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“What? Acting like what?”

Derek said firmly. “Not like you.” He gestured. “Formal.”

Stiles gaped. “Uhm. I was trying to be serious? Is it working?” He looked hopeful. “Or am I just confusing you? I can quit it if it is.” Derek’s eyebrows informed him that the polite tone was either confusing him or irritating him. He could not be sure which. “All right. I will relax a bit I guess, but I want you to understand that I am here on very serious business. I did not just wake up this morning, read a web page and come over here. I have been prepping for this for weeks.”

Derek leaned back on his couch. 

Stiles took a deep breath. “I would like to apply for the position of Emissary for your pack.” He stared Derek in the face. “I know that I have just started training, but I have many advantages that someone from somewhere else would not.” Derek’s eyebrows shot up so fast that they nearly hit his hairline. “I know I am very young. I know that I have some physical disabilities, like my leg and my ADHD, but I think that you know that I am very resourceful when it comes to problem solving and research.” Stiles felt the words slipping out of him. He urged himself to keep it together. 

“Stiles. I don’t have a pack.” Derek spoke like that this was not going to change.

“You will be getting one, though, right?” Stiles said with conviction. “You are an alpha now; I have already learned that it is pretty much an instinct with alphas to have a pack. Without a pack, you’ll become an omega – a very strong omega, yes, but still an omega.”

Derek remained stony faced.

“Are you planning to become an omega? I mean, I mean, I shouldn’t be demanding answers from you when I came to you with my idea, but I kinda assumed you would be building a pack and I wanted to make sure that I got a claim on the position, if I could get a claim, before you went to someone else.” He took a deep breath. “So, how bad am I screwing this up?”

Derek watched him for a few minutes. “I don’t get you at all. Why are you doing this? Why would you want to get involved?”

“You are going to have to use more words. Are you asking me why I want to hang around with fur-challenged people? Why I want to be an assistant to fur-challenged people? Or why I want to be an assistant to you, as a fur-challenged person? Because those are totally three different questions to which I have a number of answers for each of them.”

Derek combined a roll of the shoulders, a glare, and a grimace to indicate that he wanted answers to all of three them. 

“Okay.” Stiles responded to that look with his own grimace. “I guess the first answer is … I think I have, for someone my age, a pretty good grip on how I operate, especially after what happened this year. I don’t let things go when I think they’re interesting. I don’t let things scare me away. Before you say it, I know that you all are supposed to be scary, but I’m a cop’s son. I know that humans can be just as savage as you can be; they just have less excuse for it. I don’t think I would want or be able to stay away as long as I know people like you live in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles shrugged at his own choice of words. “And I guess I wanted to take Deaton and Morrell up on their offer because they said something to me that I hadn’t heard to me before – that I’d be good at something. My father always says I can be anything I want to be, but he is required by Parent Law to say that. I also see why the job is important. From what little I’ve learned, werewolves have all sorts of instincts that don’t work too well with us more squishy folk. Helping people who need it isn’t a bad way to spend your life.”

Stiles looked to see if Derek wanted to say something, but the older man was just watching him. “And why your emissary? That’s the most complex. I boiled it down to five reasons you can give your glare of disapproval to when you feel like it.” He glances around the nearly bare loft.

“First, you are the only game in town. This is kind of practical for me, but I’ve still got two years of high school left, and I am very much a learn-by-doing guy. If I spent years learning about this stuff in a purely theoretical sense, I’d probably get bored and give up. ‘Unfocused’ appears a lot in my school records.” 

“Second, you need my help.” He raises his hands against the intensified glare. “Look, while at least you aren’t living in your family’s burned-down mansion, you are living in what could be described as an industrial-strength monk’s cell. As far as I can tell, you have no social life – you live by brooding alone, and that isn’t healthy for anyone. You haven’t started building a pack yet, so you either don’t know how or you don’t want to even though you know how bad that will get – unless you don’t know how bad it will get which is even worse. And while I think Deaton is a pretty good guy – and he wants to help you – he’s not the most extroverted guy in the world. He will help you when you are in trouble, but I want to help you before you get in trouble. I’m proactive. I always have been.”

“Third, I want you to do something for me. I’m told that when an Emissary joins a pack, they can make certain requests. I only have one – that you let Scott join your pack. Or, really, that you make Scott join your pack. Everyone seems to think it can be done, and while he’s in bad shape, he’ll be in better shape as your beta than as an omega.” He shrugs. “If it helps him, even a little bit, then it’s worth it.” 

“Fourth.” He takes a deep breath. “I think you are a good person. You had every reason to leave. You had every reason to join your uncle’s side. You had every reason to kill the Argents. On that last night, according to my dad, when you had a choice to go after your uncle or save my dad from Scott – you chose to save my dad. You’re grumpy and you don’t use your words, but I know that those aren't the things that makes a person good or not. What makes a person good or not is what they choose to do.” 

He stopped after that, because, even for him, that was a lot of talking.

“That was four things.” Derek replied.

“What?” He was confused. “Uhm …”

“You said you had five things, but you only listed four things.” He couldn’t tell if Derek was fucking with him or not. 

“Oh my god, I must have lumped two things in the fourth thing when I meant to make one of them the fifth thing. Does it really matter? Four things – I mean four things.”

Derek stood up, his face neutral. “Are you hungry?”

“What?” This was not going in any way how he thought it was going to go. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m hungry.” 

“We can order in or we can go out to. My treat.” Derek looks at him for a response. “There’s a Chinese place that delivers and it is pretty good. The menu’s on the counter.”

Stiles looked around. He was lost. “Uhm. Okay. No questions for me then.” He got up and went over to the counter. Was this a test? Was he being brushed off? If this did happen, taking a class in Communication Skills 101 would be the first advice he would give.

Derek ordered Mongolian Chicken. Who ordered Mongolian Chicken? Why would you do that? It was like a crime against nature. Second advice give would be proper Chinese delivery ordering procedure. He ordered the Kung Pao Chicken, because that is how you should eat chicken in a Chinese meal. 

There was an actual table in the loft, but there wasn’t actually more than one chair. They sat on the couch, balancing plates on their knees. Derek had a beer for himself and ordered Mountain Dew for Stiles. 

Five minutes after they started eating, Derek put his fork down – both of them had chosen to use forks – and said suddenly. “I haven’t started putting a pack together because I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

Stiles had a mouth full of rice. “Mmmmmmm,” he said sagely. 

“My family had been a pack for hundreds of years; most of us were born wolves. We didn’t have to think about forming a pack, because we were already one. There would have been training, but Laura was supposed to be the alpha, and if it wasn’t her, it would have been other people.” Derek shrugged. 

Stiles wanted to ask how hard it could be, but he realized that would be stupid. He had only been learning for a month and he knew how hard it would be. 

Derek didn’t say anything for another ten minutes, as they ate in silence. Luckily, Stiles could shovel food into his mouth whenever he got the urge to break it. 

“I wouldn’t know what I was doing. The Argents have left me alone, but no matter what they say, they may react badly to me turning people. I also know that building a new pack on the Hale lands would draw the attention of others – others who are bad news. Even if it went really well, there would still be trouble.”

“And if you don’t? What’s going to happen to you?” Stiles pointed out.

Derek didn’t have an answer for that and went back to his meal. Stiles watched him eat for about three minutes. 

“You know what is going to happen to you. Alphas can become omegas. Giving up because of what might happen when you know what will happen will be just as bad is … stupid.“ Stiles pushed his fork through the cooling meal in the Styrofoam container. “You can’t win, Derek, if you don’t play. That’s a motto or something.”

Derek nods. “It isn’t that easy.”

“My mom used to say that nothing good ever is.” He stands up. “You heard what I said. Think about it. You have a phone?”

Derek scowls. “You’ve called me before.”

“Just checking. Who knows, you could have gotten rid of a lot of things when you decided to throw your future away. Call me when you reached a decision, but I got one last thing. This thing, this thing I proposed? It’ll help you and it will help me. I guarantee it. They call this a win-win.”

 

ALLISON ARGENT 

It had been two months since her training had began in earnest, and Allison was both proud and nervous at how quickly she was mastering it. Her grandfather, to whom she always offered the utmost deference, called her a ‘natural talent.’ It was a compliment, but it made her feel icky. It sounded like something Kate would have said.

The physical training was grueling, and complaining about it was not acceptable to the trainers. Practical exercise was stressed: running, climbing, swimming, chopping wood. Weight machines and other technology were frowned upon. One of her trainers employed by her grandfather said they did not want hunters to look like they were strong but to actually be strong. Sometimes, she was asleep before nine, she was so exhausted.

The weapon training was also pretty intense. She did well in the archery, but she also began training with guns – there might be times when a bow just wouldn’t work – and with melee weapons. She used to enjoy archery, but now that she knew why she had been encouraged in it, it was accompanied with a burden. Now, she practiced hard because she had a different goal: protect her family.

Finally, on top of her high school work – home-schooled now – she had reading to do in the family archives. Story after story detailing the predations of werewolves and what had to be done to stop them. She read stories of destroyed families, stories of mangled corpses, and stories of orphans. She has an epiphany one night when she is reading a particularly harrowing story of a female alpha who adopted and then turned teenage boys into werewolves, so that her entire pack were her legal children. The alpha had put up a terrible fight until all her betas were dead; then she had just given up.

She can see it from both sides. From her family’s side, a monster took vulnerable children and made them into monsters. From the alpha’s side, she made herself a family. She wondered when the Argent family stopped trying to understand their enemies and just started hating them. 

She would never say that to Gerard or to most of the hunters who worked with him. The hunters in the compound seemed to be all fanatics. When she thought about it, she realized that they liked being werewolf hunters. They liked using their skills to hunt dangerous creatures and make the world a safer place. They did not seem like her dad at all. They didn’t want to think about the things they killed as people.

Her grandfather was different. He could sound just as fanatic as the rest of them, but then he could turn and answer her questions about werewolf packs as if he were discussing the family down the street. She realized this made him very dangerous, because while the other hunters were driven by fervor, he was driven by choice. He killed them when it fit what he wanted, not because of some overwhelming desire or sense of responsibility.

As summer began and she had more time, she tried harder to fit in. She’d done this before when she came to a new school, but now it had so much more meaning. Luckily, the skills were the same: be eager to join in but not too eager; ask questions but not too many questions; learn everyone’s name and one interesting thing about every one of them. 

It worked. By the end of June, she was being treated like just one of the hunters in the place. She had purposefully spoken up if it felt like she was being given special treatment because she was Gerard’s granddaughter – she wasn’t, but she even fought against the perception of it – and it had been noticed. It did not hurt among the male hunters that she was still relatively pretty. 

That was when she got the first bit of information about Beacon Hills. After working with the melee trainer, she had overheard two of them talking about a mission to Beacon Hills. She followed them as stealthily as she could. 

It seemed that her grandfather was sending hunters to Beacon Hills to keep tabs on Scott and Derek Hale. They were not supposed to do anything but locate them and gather any information on them. Scott was easy to watch, locked away in the asylum. Derek Hale was more dangerous. She also heard that they were to avoid her parents; her mom and dad were not to know that they were there.

She was concerned. Why would he want to hide it from his parents? Yes, they were angry with each other, but this seemed to be something else. This wasn’t standard procedure for watching werewolves, which she now knew, she understood grimly. This felt like preparation for a hunt.

She wasn’t going to contact her parents; they were still opposed to what she was doing. Every time she talked to her mother, they yelled at each other until Allison put her foot down. Weirdly, the arguments made her feel good; she had learned to hear her mother’s concern for her well-being and her happiness in every cutting remark and every shout. Her father was more gentle; he had resigned himself to the fact that Allison would do what she thought was best for everyone, but he also wanted to make sure that Gerard stayed out of her head as much as possible. He, too, wanted her to come home. 

But, even if she couldn’t contact her parents to give them a warning directly, she could still had people she could talk to in Beacon Hills. The hunters she had listened to had mentioned the sheriff’s son spending a lot of time with Derek Hale, though they were sure he hadn’t been bitten. They had even jokily suggested that either Derek was using the teen to keep in good graces with the sheriff and to adopt a veneer of respectability or that he was a pedophile with an amputee fetish.

Still, Allison knew this was a way to get more information and warn people without causing any problems in her family or causing any problems for her, so she made a plan. One of the youngest hunters was a boy from Idaho named Abel. He was good looking, just a bit too muscled, tall, wavy red hair, a silly attempt at a goatee that he thought made him look older but did not. He was perfect because he was polite, totally shy around her, and kept looking at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. They might have been friends if he wasn’t in awe of her grandfather; he thought that Gerard was training him to be a hero, you see. She asked him to take her to dinner and a movie and he blushed and stammered and said yes, and then she pitched it to Gerard as if it was his idea.

On the way to the dinner, she wanted to stop by the mall. She explained she needed to pick something up and she wouldn’t be long. This was not a lie. She bought an untraceable phone the way she had been taught. She laughed and smiled with Abel at dinner; he was not a terrible person and pretty good company, and she felt momentarily bad about using him like this. 

At the movies, in the middle of the most exciting part – or so she thought, she barely paid attention – she made an excuse to Abel about having to use the ladies’ room and that he would have to tell her what happened when she got back. She estimated she would have fifteen minutes for the conversation.

The phone rang three times before he picked up. “Yo, you got Stilinski!” 

“Hello, Stiles. This is Allison.” 

There was a pause on the other end of the line. She hoped he was not thinking of hanging up. They had not talked since that night. “Hey, Allison,” he said, trying to sound casual but coming off as careful, “what’s up?”

“I don’t have much time, Stiles.” She took a deep breath. “Do you talk to Derek Hale a lot?”

“Maybe.” There was just enough pause to sound like a lie. “I see him around. Why?”

“I need you to warn him. My grandfather is having him followed, and I think that he’s planning something, though I don’t know what it is.”

The silence that followed this sentence was long and she could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Uhm. Thanks? If you don’t mind me sounding suspicious, because I am suspicious, why do you want me to warn Derek? You know your parents are here and they’ve got people.”

“My parents and my grandfather are mad at each other. He didn’t like how things ended up, and they fought … a lot. That is kind of why I’m up here and not in Beacon Hills.” She said. “I know it sounds bad, but I don’t want my parents to know that I told you to tell Derek. Everything’s weird and tense, but I felt that you should know. They’re watching Scott to, but he should be safe in the hospital.”

“That sounds complicated. Uhm, thanks? Are you coming back?”

She stuttered. This wasn’t what this was about. “Would you want me to come back?”

There was a pause. “Yeah. I liked you, Allison. If things had been different, we could have been really good friends.” 

“I don’t know if I am coming back or not. My grandfather is using my training against my parents, and coming back might make things worse. I have to go. I don’t want anyone to get suspicious.” She laughed. “More suspicious. You take care of yourself, okay?” 

Stiles mumbled something and hung up. She slid the phone into her pocket. She’d hide it somewhere in the compound for emergencies, but she wouldn’t keep it with her. It had only taken her ten minutes, so she was sure Abel wouldn’t be suspicious. 

She sat down with Abel and enjoyed the rest of her date. Sometime between the end of the call and the end of the movie, it suddenly occurred to her that she had lied to a lot of people, manipulated someone through promises of romance, betrayed someone who cared about her (even if he was an old twisted bastard), and engaged in subterfuge and double-dealing in the name of a greater good.

It seemed she was an Argent after all.

 

LYDIA MARTIN 

Summer was definitely one of her favorite times of the year. When she wanted to spend time by herself, she could pull up a chaise lounge out by the pool, grab a good book, put on some music and spend the afternoon by herself. It could be day after day of glorious solitude.

She did sometimes go out with friends: shopping, movies, even dancing. She had made a firm rule; this was going to be a ‘no boys’ summer. She, like some other people, had a rough semester and she wanted time to recover. Summer was perfect for this and it was going oh so well. There were just three things that were bothering her.

First, there was Jackson. It was not really a problem, but she was treating it like a problem. He was there when she needed him and not there when she did not need him. All she had to do was say his name in a certain way and he would appear. If she did not speak to him or interact with him for a certain period of time, he would go away. The thought of having a personal ghost was creepy enough, but there was also the fact that it was going _well_. At first, she began to suspect that the ghost wasn’t really Jackson at all – the living Jackson had been demanding and selfish. Then she realized it was just a transformation; in many other important ways he was still Jackson. She was also worried about it on what she was surprised to discover was an ethical level. Was she turning him into a servant? Is that what he wanted? Is that what she wanted? Unfortunately, there were very few resources she could consult about a situation such like this. 

Second, there was Danny. When she had declared it a ‘no boys’ summer, she should have declared it a ‘no straight boys’ summer. It seemed, though, that Danny did not want to have anything to do with her. He was still angry after their confrontation in the library, and he did not, as she had expected, get over it. She wanted to be friends with him again, and she wanted to help him get over the hang up he had, but she wasn’t going to be blackmailed and she wasn’t going to be threatened. Still, she did think again about sending – no asking – Jackson to help his best friend out. 

Third, and this was the strangest, she had recently become aware that she had stopped dreaming. Or, more precisely, that she was unaware of what she had been dreaming about. She had to be dreaming, because she would have gone mad by now if she hadn’t, but usually she remembered at least one dream a week. But ever since March, she realized, she had not remember one single dream. It was like they just vanished out of her head when her alarm went off. There seemed to be no side effects, but it was beginning to concern her.

She finished the book she was reading. Her tastes had gone rather eclectic over the summer. She was reading a book on illegal international finance, i.e. money laundering. She just felt like reading it, she supposed. She did not have enough money to launder. Not yet, anyway.

She took a swim. She took a nap. She woke up and the sun was beginning to set. Her mother would be making dinner soon, but she had time. She called out in a solemn voice. “Jackson, would you come here please?”

It took very little time. She wasn’t sure how he did it, or if he was just nearby, but whenever she said those words, he was there within a few minutes. It was somehow reassuring that he could reach her so quickly. 

He was smiling at her. He always smiled at her when he arrived. It was creepy and heart-warming at the same time, because she could never quite tell if it was genuine. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” She scooted up into a sitting position. “How are you?” It was inane, because he’s dead and he’s a ghost, but she wanted him to be okay.

“Fine, I guess.” He sat down on another chaise lounge and the action was so normal that it could have been last summer. 

She studied him for a moment as something was off and she could not quite place her finger on what it was. She eventually realized, “You’ve changed your clothes.” This confused her.

“I did?” He looked at himself. He was wearing something that he would have worn during the summer. “I guess I did.” 

“You didn’t think about changing your clothes? That’s pretty strange. Come to think of it, I always assumed ghosts would look like what they looked like at the moment they died. But you’ve never looked like that.”

“No.” He says without expression, the smile disappearing. “I guess I haven’t.”

“What are you doing here, Jackson?” She said suddenly. She had been pretending this was just something slightly abnormal instead of something that was so terribly wrong. “It’s been months. Months.” 

“You called me.” He said that as it is the answer to everything. 

“Yes.” She frowned at his answer, which wasn’t really an answer. “Did I hurt you? Am I … enslaving you? Do you want to go?”

An expression of irritation flickered across his face. “Are you bored with me? Are you scared of me?” 

“No!” She protested out loud, and that was true. “I am tired of pretending that I know what is going on, when I don’t. No one who knows anything knows how this happened, and I am worried that it is … wrong. How can you be happy about this?”

“God, Lydia.” And right there he sounded like the old Jackson. “You don’t even realize what you did. You called me back from wherever we go when we die, and you did it when you were unconscious. Do you get that? It means you love me. Not you _might_ love me; not you _kind of_ love me. There is no way you could do what you did and not mean that in every sense of the word.” He makes an exasperated sound. “I am here until you don’t love me anymore. I guess that is what I am trying to say. And I know you will eventually not love me anymore. That’s not an accusation. I’m not a real person; you’ll find someone you will love just as much as you loved me. That’s how things work. And yeah, it sucks, but it beats having died without ever realizing that someone did feel that way about me.”

Lydia was taken aback by the openness of the statement, though she understood that he had nothing to lose by saying it. “Okay. Just promise me that you will tell me if you think I am using you.” 

“I suspect you’ll know it when I start feeling that way. Ghost stories usually don’t have happy endings, do they?”

Lydia frowned but only for a moment, because she did not really want to confront that fact. He was right, but then, Deaton had told her that most ghost stories were not to be relied upon. “Now that we are done with awkward emotional confessions, let’s talk about something else. We need to do something about Danny.”

Jackson suddenly looked guilty to her eyes. “I don’t want to visit him. It would be hard for me to visit him. If you aren’t there, I can’t really do much. It is hard to focus.”

“I know. Why don’t you want to see him? He’s taking things very seriously. He’s mad at me. He’s mad at everyone, I guess”

Jackson shrugged. “You don’t understand. I think seeing me wouldn’t help. It’d just hurt more. But he should know the truth.” He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. 

“Is there something wrong?” She asked, carefully. 

He does not respond immediately; she can tell that he is decided whether to share something with her. “No. I’m not going to jinx anything yet.”

 

JACKSON WHITTEMORE 

Jackson lurked in the corner of the cell. He was a mass of conflicting emotions as he watched the living move in front of him. He had begun to practice more and more on possessing Scott while he was asleep. It was easier to do when he was asleep, since the feral werewolf reacted when he got too close. Soon, he thought, he would be able to control the body completely. He had already managed to eat some food. Tasting food – as bland as asylum food was – was a thrill he could barely describe.

On the other hand, he knew that Morrell and Stilinksi believed that this ritual – whatever the hell it was – could possibly help Scott recover from being driven mad. He was a good person, Jackson told himself. He wanted Scott to get better, because that is what good people did. He knew that Scott was under someone's control when he had murdered him. Why couldn’t be happy for this situation?

He was angry though. Everyone was trying to save Scott, and no one was trying to save him. Stilinski knew he was a ghost. He could have told people. They could be trying to save him. He was the victim here. He was going to wander around, unable to touch anyone or have anything resembling a normal life, until the day that Lydia no longer loved him. No one but Lydia really cared. If he could grind his teeth, he would have.

He watched Morrell usher the orderlies out of the room and then lock the door. She was relying on Derek Hale alone to protect her from the feral Scott. Stilinski leaned up against the back of the room. He noticed he was walking with a cane and an artificial leg. He seemed to be getting very good at getting around on it. Derek Hale was watching Scott who was already up and growling, but not very loudly.

Jackson looked at Derek Hale closely. In the months since he had gouged him in the back of the neck, it looked like he had grown larger. Since the man had already been really cut at that point, the ghost had not seen the point of that, but then he realized it could have the side effect of him being an alpha. Derek seemed more impressive and self-possessed, but at the same time more dangerous; after all, he was about to enter a room with a fully alert feral werewolf. 

Stilinksi offered advice from the back of the room. “Remember, Derek, that he won’t recognize you as his alpha, so he’ll be anxious and on the defense, but he will probably recognize your smell as both someone he knew and as someone who is a relative of his alpha, so he most likely will not attack you.”

Derek turned around and gave Stilinski a look that meant ‘tell me something I don’t know’ in eyebrow-ese.

“Look, I am trying to do my job, okay?” Stilinski complained. “Don’t give me that face.”

Morrell remain quiet and watchful at the door. Jackson got the feeling she was watching the interaction between Stilinski and Hale as much as he was watching the interaction between Hale and McCall. She looked content not to say anything. 

Jackson considered how he could disrupt whatever this was going to be, but the truth was he did not know what he could do. He knew that McCall could see him now and that he could easily manifest where the others could see him. But if he did appear, what would he say? How would they react when he said he was jealous that there was hope for McCall and not for him? They obviously didn’t care about justice. 

Hale entered the cell with the appropriate entrance and made sure the door was behind him. He did not use words, but there was lot of snarling and growling as the two werewolves began to circle each other. Jackson watched fascinated by the primal power on display. 

Eventually, though it looked that Hale was going to carry the day. He was far more physically imposing and he also had a roar that could knock people on their asses. Jackson frowned. You know, if people were going to screw with his plans, he was going to screw with theirs.

He willed himself to appear right next to Stilinski. “What the hell is this supposed to do?” 

Stilinski fell right over. It was satisfying in a petty way; maybe he wasn’t totally different than when he was alive. “Gahhhhh. Jackson, what the fuck?” He sprawled on the floor. Morrell turned and looked directly at him; Jackson was satisfied to see the look of confusion on her face.

Hale wasn’t even paying attention to them anymore, and McCall was baring his throat to the man. Jackson had no idea whether that was good or not, but since it seemed like things were calming down, it looked like things were going as expected. He felt another stab of anger.

Stilinski shrugged off Morrell’s offer to help him stand and pushed himself up with the wall and the cane. “Morrell, this is Jackson Whittemore. Alan told you about him.” He pushed himself up on the wall. “I thought you could only do that near Lydia, Jackson?” 

“Nope. Either of them. I might have told you that, but I didn’t feel like it.” He smirked. “Now tell me what this is supposed to do.” He had heard what it was supposed to do; he did not know why he was lying about it.

Morrell was looking at him calmly, like she did everything else. He had hoped he would have knocked her off balance for a while longer. “Omegas are inherently unstable when compared to werewolves in a pack. It is our hope that having him join the Hale pack, it will help him recover his humanity.”

Stilinski had managed to right himself completely. “You never said anything about this,” he accused Jackson.

“Well, he’s not the greatest conversationalist, so hanging out here isn’t the high point of my existence. Not that anything right now is the high point of any existence.” Jackson suddenly felt the bitterness well up in him even more. “Why would Derek want a psychopathic mutt in his pack? Seems a little high maintenance, doesn’t it?”

Stilinski was still loyal, it seemed. A look of rage passed over his face and he opened his mouth to no doubt release a torrent of abuse, but he suddenly clicked his mouth shut. He closed his eyes and said in a small voice. “Are you angry?”

“Stilinski,” he spat, “what do you think?” He took a step away and then whirled around. “Though, I suppose it would be more entertaining if he gets better; then we can chat!” Jackson did not understand what he was doing. He was angry, but he was just showing it openly. He needed to keep his cool.

Damnit, thought Jackson, as he saw significant looks pass between Morrell and Stilinksi. Why couldn’t have kept his big mouth shut. He needed to change the conversation. “So. Did it work?”

Derek was the one who answered, coming out of the cell. “Yes, Jackson. Why are you still here?” Derek Hale was not one for subtlety. 

“Oh, you know, hanging out, watching people live their lives. You know what? This conversation is boring. I’m out of here.” He did not want to look at their concerned faces or their angry faces or any faces at all right now. He simply disappeared. 

 

ALLISON ARGENT

Despite everything that was going on, it had been great to go out and be a normal person for once. Allison had planned this trip for several reasons, but the largest one, she had to admit to herself, was to just hang out with Lydia Martin. As crazy as her brief time in Beacon Hills was, she had made a real friend. She would be damned if she was going to lose her.

The day was nearly perfect. They met in the morning for breakfast at the most fashionable coffee house of which Allison had heard. In the six months she had been in Washington, she had only been in Seattle twice, so she relied on what the other people in the compound had said. It was exciting to just explore the city.

After breakfast, they went shopping for shoes because, as Lydia put it the phrase ‘too many shoes’ was blasphemy. Then, under Lydia’s direction, they went shopping for new jackets because Lydia had grown dissatisfied with the ones she had already. She explained this that she felt like a different person, and different people wore different clothes. Allison bought one as well. It was fancy and a little sassy and she would never ever wear it because any form of training would shred it like tissue paper. She was different, too, but there was a part of her that didn’t actually want Lydia to see how different she was.

Right before lunch, Allison told Lydia that she had an errand – which was not technically a lie – and drove to the clinic that she knew her grandfather was going to. It did not take fifteen minutes to confirm what she thought and then they could go one with their day. 

They took in the sights after lunch. To be more specific, they went to the Museum of History & Industry and the Seattle Aquarium because Lydia was interested in seeing them. Allison noted that around her, Lydia’s was open and honest about her interests; Lydia never feared Allison thinking she wasn't cool because she wanted to learn about things. That was one of the reasons why they are friends. 

Allison smiled to herself as they left the museum and headed for dinner at an incredibly expensive restaurant that Lydia had read about online. 

Another reason was that Lydia never took her bullshit – ever – and yet still wanted to hang around with her. Honesty was a commodity she valued. After dinner they went out to a club, but they did not say very long. It had been a long day and they were more interested in just talking to each other, so they went back to their motel room.

They could have driven back to the compound south of Olympia, but Allison did not want Lydia anywhere near her grandfather and his cadre of hunters. They’d go home – or to a reasonable facsimile – in the morning.

Lydia relaxed on the bed. “So, tell me how your training is going, Allison?” 

Allison glanced over from her own bed; she was surprised that Lydia had brought it up. “Hmmmmmm. What makes you think I have been training?”

Lydia makes a ‘please’ face. “Intensive physical training changes your body, and we did go clothes shopping. You also act differently in public places – more aware of your surroundings. It's obvious if someone knows what to look for.”

Allison bit her lip. “Do you really want to talk about it? I was hoping this trip could be normal girl stuff.”

Lydia pulled herself up and swung her legs over the bed. “Normal.” She made a face. “I don’t do normal any more, Allison. ‘Normal’ means ‘ignorant.’ ‘Normal’ means ‘vulnerable.’ I never want those two words to apply to me ever again. Am I going to let this new world run my life? No more than anyone or anything else gets to run my life.” She tossed her head. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but do not hold back because you want me to be something as drab as ‘normal.’”

Allison looked at her. “Fair enough.” She described her training to her friend in detail, and Lydia remained engrossed in what she had to say. She found herself explaining to Lydia why she was in Washington rather than Beacon Hills.

“Seriously? I know he is your grandfather, but he sounds very … unlikable.” Lydia smiled to heighten the sarcasm. “Do you think after this long he would let you come home? You could come keep me company during junior year. We would rule the school.”

Allison suddenly realized that she would like nothing more than go back to her parents and Beacon Hills. Regardless of what had happened, it was better to be around people she cared about. “I don’t think he will, not yet. He is still mad at my parents, and I think he is planning something. I warned Derek Hale, but Gerard is sneaking hunters through there without telling my parents. But I don’t think it can last much longer. Remember the clinic we stopped by earlier this afternoon? I got the address from envelopes in the mail. It is a cancer center; I think he’s very sick.”

Lydia did not seem to be upset by it. She did not offer condolences. She was thinking. “Doesn’t that seem strange? If he is so sick, why wouldn’t he want to mend fences with your dad? Or at least, not make things worse.”

“I don’t know.” Allison explains to Lydia how she’s learned to look past Gerard’s kindly pose. “Maybe he thinks he’ll get better.”

“Possibly.” Lydia flopped back down on the bed. “I still say we should keep an eye on him. So he’s keeping an eye on Derek Hale? Maybe I should keep an eye on him as well.”

Allison smiled once again as she lay back on the bed. It shouldn’t help, that Lydia is involved in this. She should want Lydia to stay away, but it does help. It helps a lot, to know that she has someone outside her family that is on her side.

 

LYDIA MARTIN 

Lydia slid into the seat across from Stiles. It was the first day of school and she had decided to keep the plebian masses unsettled by sitting down across from Captain Unpopular; they would wonder why she would sit with him, who she never spoke to before and had been with her on that terrible night. She knew better now what type of boy he was and what he was capable of doing.

Let the lesser students talk, she thought. It would do them good to open their minds.

Stiles looked up from the folders he was leafing through while he was eating lunch. “Uhm. Hi, Lydia.” 

“Hello, Stiles.” She looked down at the folders. “Those are student records from the office.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” he exclaimed, covering the folders up with his body. “I borrowed them.” 

Lydia arranged her food out in front of her. “So why are you snooping into student’s private files, Stiles?” she asked as if she expected to get an answer.

“Reasons.” He looked around shiftily.

“If you want to keep it a secret, you shouldn’t be looking at them in a crowded lunch room. So, do I make a fuss and get you in serious trouble or do you just want to tell me what you are doing with them?”

Stiles shrugged. “I am helping Derek out on a little project. “ He tried to leave it at that.

“Hmmmmm. The harder you make me work for it, the less discretion you can count on me having, Stiles. I want to know. I can also help. School files tell you a little about the students, but I know everything about everyone.”

“You do?”

“It is part of the job description as the leader of the school’s social life. I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know how hard this is.” She smiled at him to show she was teasing. “So, what are you looking for among the students?”

Stiles thought about what he was going to say for a moment. “Candidates.” 

Lydia’s mind went over the possible meaning of those terms. She remembered the past. “So, how many does he want?”

“He needs at least two more, but I’m pushing for three or four.” He murmurs to himself and then looks down. “Scott doesn’t count. I hope he will someday.” He took a deep breath and moved on. “Derek doesn’t want it to be too big; he really doesn’t know what he is doing. His sister, Laura, was trained to do it. He wasn’t.”

Lydia was suddenly interested in this. She did not know why; it was like an urge to know about this pack. She was a bit confused that she knew it was for a pack. “What’s he looking for?”

Stiles put his pen into his mouth. “Derek wants the bite to be a gift. He wants people who will have better lives as werewolves than what they have now. He thinks that is how it is supposed to be.”

“You don’t agree?” 

Stiles shrugged. “If my life was rough, why would I want all this supernatural crap on top of it? If I came from a terrible family or had a horrible disease, what is the benefit of going – “ And he lowered his voice considerably. “Hey, werewolves!”

“You are looking at it from the wrong angle. The people you want to change are the people who want change. There are many people who are in terrible situations, but they do not see a way out. Those are the people who would be willing and grateful for radical solutions.“ She clucked her tongue. “You also have to remember that Derek grew up in a family of them; he probably thinks being a werewolf is a good thing to be.”

Stiles looked up. “How did you know that he was a born wolf? I didn’t think you were that close?” He shook his head. “I wonder how he could still think that, what with psycho hunters and psycho uncles.”

Lydia was puzzled for a moment. How did she know that? Maybe Allison had told her. “Crime can happen to human families as well. I think you are being narrow. “ 

“You are probably right. It is not like my sample pool is that huge. So, I narrowed them down to these ten. Teenagers are more likely to survive the bite. We thought that if it is someone I knew it would be easier for them.” He looked at her, hopefully. “Care to give me some insight.”

Lydia takes the files and sorts through them. “It seems you are looking at people with a history of parental neglect.” She looks up. “That’s smart.” 

Stiles smiled. “Coming from you, that’s a compliment.” He glanced across the lunch room. “Neglectful parents are more apt to miss the signs that something has changed.” 

Lydia knew that there was an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice. The Sheriff wasn’t really neglectful, but he was busy. “Here.” She plopped a folder in front of him. 

“Erica Reyes?” He asked with a frown. 

“Her epilepsy is severe; the medication she is taking for it reinforces her low self-image and isolates her from the rest of the student body. The medication isn’t a cure but a preventative. Unless there is a medical breakthrough in the next decade, she is going to be like this forever. I also know that she is favorably disposed towards you, so she’ll be the easiest person to approach.” 

Stiles chewed on his lip. “Really? I thought of the medical stuff, but . . . I don’t remember ever meeting her.”

Lydia smirked. “I am not the only one who can ignore people.”

Stiles looked at her, hurt. She had noticed he was less prone to spasms than he had been at the beginning of sophomore year. He was still energetic and talkative – he was just able to focus more. “Touché.”

They made a plan to meet after school and watch Erica as she left. She asked Jackson, very nicely, to follow the girl around school and see what he could find out. She had to admit that it was very nice to have her own personal spy, but she did not feel a twinge of guilt when she thought about it. Intent was everything wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like he was going to watch her sleep or get changed or anything creepy like that.

They met on the bleachers of the lacrosse field. It was still technically summer, so it was a beautiful day with a nice breeze. They compared notes that they had put together and they argued back and forth on the merits of offering the bite to Erica. Stiles kept encouraging her to challenge him, so he could be prepared when he had the discussion with Derek.

Lydia realized with a little shock that she enjoyed this. This wasn’t a small decision, like what dress went with those shoes or which boy to flirt with to make Jackson even more jealous. This made those decisions seem not only small, but trivial. This was huge, and that fact made her smile. She had not known that about herself.

Stiles must have felt it as well because suddenly he was laughing like a lunatic. “What the fuck am I doing? Is this a real thing I am doing? “ 

“Stiles?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I am seventeen years old and I just spent the day arguing the merits of turning a severely epileptic junior into a creature of the night. That seems like something an adult should do.”

“Please.” She snorted. “You are one of the most adult people I know! Do you think you that once your life's clock hits 6570 days, you suddenly get powers of discernment and reason? They chose 18 as adulthood because there has to be an objective standard for legal purposes. You were an adult the moment you decided not to let your mother’s death destroy your family. You were an adult when you decided not to abandon Scott after you got him bit in the woods. You were an adult when you decided not to visit him anymore because it was bad for you. You were an adult when you chose to do all of this, so don’t falter now. It’s unattractive.”

Stiles went stock still. His first response was his standard response. “That means you think at least sometimes, I’m attractive.” Then he sobered. “You aren’t frightened by this.”

“Of course I can be frightened by all of it.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m confident, not stupid. But I am also intrigued by it. All of this showed me I was a big fish in a small pond, and now I know I am a little fish in the ocean. That may intimidate some people, but I am not some people. Why do you think I dated Jackson?” She laughed and then looked over at Jackson, who was standing in the distance. “It wasn’t just because he was captain of the lacrosse team. Loving him was rough." Both of them had known it. “I loved him because he wasn’t easy. I had to work for it.” 

She pointed down at the file that they were working on. “You have a good plan. You know it is necessary, so why do you doubt yourself?” 

“Well, excuse me for having a moment of self-doubt! Not that you know what it feels like, but even adults get to second guess themselves!” He smiled at her, but she sensed the hurt behind it. 

She stepped forward into his space. “You are right, Stiles. I have moments of self-doubt, but I guarantee you will never be able to tell when I do.” She saw him take in his breath, and suddenly she was afraid. She did not know what she was doing right now, but the words tumbled out of her as if she had written a script. “The world has changed, but I haven’t. I am going to get everything I ever dreamed about.” She thought about kissing him, thrilling and terrifying at the same time, and just as unbidden. “And then I am going to get more.”

“Whoa. Intensity at maximum, point proven.” She noticed that he did not flinch or even scamper; he was listening to her. “Thank you for your help, and I’m sorry for that outburst.”

“Don’t mention it. I like working with you, Stiles. We should do it again some time.” Her voice sounded so confident to her ears, but she was not sure where the words had come from. God help her, she though, if she was becoming attracted to Stiles Stilinski.

 

STILES STILINSKI 

This is the first place he has driven to by himself. It is near the end of September, and it is beginning to get a little colder, but not enough that he needs a jacket or anything like that. It has been quiet, and Stiles hopes it will stay quiet. He hopes this meeting will be peaceful and not at all intimidating.

He walks up to the door of the Argent house, a bottle of wine under his arm. It is customary in these situations for the emissary to bring a gift, and his dad helped picked it out. It seemed stupid to him to bring a gift that Mr. and Mrs. Argent will never, ever drink, but Morrell had explained that there is power in ritual even if that power isn’t magical. Certain people respect ceremony – invoking it can offer protection.

He knocks on the door and Chris Argent is there within seconds. He was seen, he guessed, or the hunter was lurking directly behind the door. “Stiles.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Mr. Argent, I am here as Emissary to the Hale Alpha, to discuss a matter that threatens the peace of this territory.” He swallowed. “And here is a gift to . . . wait, I’m supposed to give it after you ask me to come in. Sorry.”

“Stiles, please come in.” He may have smiled at that, but it is quickly replaced by seriousness. 

“Thank you.” He steps in and then hands him the wine. “This is a gift to show that I have no ill intent.” 

Stiles moved as quickly as he can into the living room. The Argent house was just as neat and well-maintained as ever, but it does not look lived in. It looked occupied. 

Chris went to sit next to his wife on one of the couches and he maneuvered his way to the other couch. Stiles noticed that the couch has been pulled away from the end table just a little bit more to make it easier for him to maneuver.

Stiles tried to hide that he was rubbing his hands on his pants. Okay, he thought, show time. Impress them!

“I am here because . . . “

Victoria interrupted him, because of course she did. “Why are you doing this?” The thing about Victoria argent was that she always sounded like she was going to pull your balls off through your nose. Stiles realized that she believed in the direct approach. The very direct approach.

Stiles bit his lip. “You know I have ADHD. I am sure that I was a pain in the ass to my mother, while she was alive. Whenever I would apologize for breaking a lamp or something spastic like that, she would say that bad things happen all the time, but the best thing is to learn how to make it so they don’t happen again.” He looked her in the eye. “I don’t want anything like that to ever happen again. This is something I can do.”

Stiles blushed. “Unless you meant, why am I coming to you, because then, other than me completely embarrassing myself, I want to make sure that you don’t have any reason to come after Derek Hale again.”

Chris replied. “Both answers are good. What did you want to discuss.” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “Derek Hale is announcing his intention to offer the bite to three members of the Beacon Hills community. In my opinion, he has put it off long enough. You know what will happen if he continues to not have a pack.”

Victoria frowned sharply. “This does not sound like a negotiation.”

Stiles swallowed; she was a scary woman. “It isn’t. You can’t negotiate over something that has to happen. The single beta he has now won’t be enough to settle his instincts, and you know that.”

Chris asked, almost immediately. “Did it help?” 

Stiles shook his head. “Too early to say. I have the names of the candidates that we are going to approach, if you want to know. We would entertain objections if they are based on something other than the fact that you don’t want there to be any more werewolves.”

Victoria and Chris looked at each other. “That is actually very reasonable of you,” Chris said carefully. “Which makes me wonder why?”

“How many animal attacks have there been in the last six months?” Stiles replied. “None. How many times have I nearly had a heart attack from something try to kill me with claws or guns? None. It is a pattern I – and Derek – would like to keep going for as long as we can. We’re funny like that. So, since this has to happen, and we all know it has to happen, we’d like you to be at least not grabbing your assault rifles when it does happen.”

Victoria did not approve of his attitude by the look on her face. He was used to it; Victoria never seemed to approve of anything. 

“Okay. Let’s go over the candidates.” 

The candidates had actually been pretty easy to determine. Derek could have done it himself with enough time for research or reflection. Or, he could have been stupid about it and do it on instinct. Physically you wanted people who could survive the bite; they did not have to be perfectly healthy but deathbed conversions rarely went well – the change was stressful. Mentally, you wanted people who were dissatisfied with their lives enough to want a change, but not broken to be unable to handle that change. Socially, you wanted someone who still had ties to the community but whose ties to their families were damaged or non-existent so they would yearn for the connection of a pack. 

When working on the list, Stiles had realized that he would have put Scott on the list of candidates. He might have taken to it, if it had been his choice. Fuck Peter Hale. Let him burn in hell.

“I do not think that we have a critical objection, especially to Lahey,” said Chris. Victoria had only said one of two words, pointing out things in the file for Chris to consider. She was never going to be happy with this. “We would prefer there was another way, but you are right – we’d rather have a stable pack than an unstable alpha. It goes without saying that it has to be voluntary, and that their self-control is your responsibility.”

“Thank you for your consideration.” Stiles was sweating like a stuck pig. This is the longest he had ever been this polite in his life. “Now, we have another matter to discuss. Do you know these individuals?” He took out a folder and placed them on the table. 

Thanks to Allison’s tip, he had been able to get pictures of the men keeping tabs on Derek and Scott. He had also taken pictures of their vehicles, including the Washington license plates. He knew that the Argents did not know about them, but he wanted to see their reactions.

To their credit, the couple had excellent poker faces. “Should we?” Victoria gave an answer that was not a lie but not an admission.

“Dunno, myself. I didn’t see them. But these guys have been hanging around Derek’s home and Eichen House, smelling of gun oil and wolfsbane, and bribing orderlies for information on the Closed Ward. Seems suspicious to us; we thought you might like to know.” 

The Argents were not happy, though they were trying not to show it. Chris stated with conviction: “I’ll look into it. Thank you for this information.”

 

JACKSON WHITTEMORE 

Jackson finished eating. Technically, he was not the one eating, but he had gotten so good at taking over Scott’s body that he could actually eat a meal with it. It was not hurting anyone, and while it was asylum food – yech – it was a sensation he hadn’t felt much in the past six months. 

He always knew he did not have the strongest moral fiber, as people said. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about that stuff; it was just that he had never called to make decisions based on it. And it wasn’t like he used Scott like a person suit all the time – just when he felt angry or frustrated. Being able to touch and taste things – even in a cell such as this one – helped steady him.

If he had to admit to himself, the thing that was causing him more and more worry was how he had begun to possess Scott’s body more frequently. If Scott was asleep, he could just slip right in with no trouble at all, but at times when he wanted to eat, when Scott was awake, he’d fight him off. Then he discovered that if he focused on the rage and frustration he had – how he had been murdered; how he’d have to see his family, his friends, Lydia, move on; how he was doomed to be a helpless spectator – he could overpower the feral werewolf’s weakened mind. 

That was scary. That was how ghost stories happened. Wasn’t that like the world? Love could bring you back, but only hate could make you real.

He was so lost in his musings that he almost got caught. The door outside the cell opened without him noticing and Derek Hale, Stilinski, and Isaac Lahey came in. Jackson had known Isaac peripherally. They had been on the lacrosse team and he was his neighbor across the street. That was about it. He immediately fled the body – his reactions wouldn’t be the ones they were expecting. 

As usually happened when he abandoned a conscious Scott, this left the werewolf in a state of angry frenzy. He swiped at Jackson, but of course, that could not hurt the ghost, and then he hurled himself against the glass.

“Whoa,” Lahey exclaimed. 

Jackson saw the look of guilt cross Derek’s face and the misery that crossed Stiles’ face and he felt his own guilt. They were thinking he was backsliding, getting worse; they didn’t realize he was just pissed off that Jackson was using his body as meat puppet. Jackson was actually happy he felt remorse. It meant he wasn’t completely a sociopathic evil ghost yet.

Derek shook himself. “He isn’t always like this, but it is good for you to see him like this. It can happen. You need to know that.”

Stiles looked away from the cell and towards Isaac. “This usually only happens to omegas and only after a while.” Jackson could see the white knuckles on his cane. “In his case, it was induced by an asshole, so it happened quicker. You see, Isaac, there are dangers to this, and I agree with Derek that you had to see him. On the other hand, you and I both know that there are people who could do this to you that are completely human. Only Derek tries to pretend that werewolves are more dangerous than humans.”

Derek snapped out of his guilt-face and sent death eyebrows at Stilinksi. Just as Stilinski had planned, Jackson thought to himself. 

Scott finally calmed down, especially with Derek present. After the submission ritual, Derek would be a calming presence to his beta, but it had not helped that much, as far as Jackson could tell. 

He wondered if he was helping or if he was hurting. Or if he cared that much.

“Now, we are super lucky today,” Stilinksi continued, “because you may or may not have noticed that there was someone following us. The black SUV – I mean, what a cliché – parked by the corner? That was a hunter keeping an eye on us.”

“Really? I thought you said you had an arrangement with the hunters in town.”

“We do. The ones who live in town seem to be able to keep to their agreements and live by their code, but some don’t, which is part of the lesson. They haven’t done anything, but, again, you are better knowing than not knowing.”

Derek snorted when Stilinski talked about the codes that they had. 

Isaac was a little overwhelmed. “Uh. Thank you for showing me this stuff I guess, but what are you … I mean what would we do about the hunters?”

Jackson snorted. Isaac was hooked like a bass.

Derek muttered. “We do nothing for now. We let them watch, and we watch them.”

Stilinski said with a smirk. “I dropped a word to Chris and Victoria. They weren’t happy, and I already knew from Allison that they didn’t know about them. There might be yelling going on. “

“Allison is a hunter,” asked Isaac. “I thought she was dating Scott before things happened.”

“She wasn’t, but now she is being trained.” Derek said bitterly. He turns to look back in the cell. “If she comes back, we’ll see where we stand. Stiles, would you and Isaac go to the car?”

Jackson was remotely interested in what was going on. Derek waited until they were gone and then approached the cell and actually got down on his knees to speak. 

“I know you cannot understand me. I hoped that taking you as my beta would have helped, but it’s been more than a month. I wish I had been better when we first met. I wish I had stopped Peter. I wish many things, but …” He bites his lip. “I am not going to make you live in a cage forever. “

Jackson realized he wasn’t actually talking to Scott. This was a promise Derek was making to himself. It would have been touching, but Jackson knew he was talking about euthanasia. That was unacceptable for a number of reasons. 

Jackson suddenly appeared. “The fuck you will!” He was angrier than he could remember.

Derek was a big, bad alpha werewolf, but he could be startled. He leapt backward, growling. It took him a few moments to get himself under control. “You ... you’re Jackson, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. What do you think you are doing? You think you are doing him a favor?” He was shouting and his voice was doing this strange reverb thing. “I have listened to his doctor; he could come out of it next week or ten years from now. You feel guilty? Fine. Don’t take it out on him.”

Derek clammed up immediately. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m sure Stilinski filled you in, even though he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does.” He snarled. “Ghosts stay for a reason. I have two.”

“He’s my responsibility,” Derek said immediately, “not yours. I’ll decide what’s best for him.” 

“Sure you will. I am really familiar with werewolves getting to decide who lives and dies. Fuck you.” He disappeared from view. 

 

ALLISON ARGENT 

Allison flipped Abel again onto the mat. She laughed at him. “What’s the matter with you today? I usually can’t kick your ass like this!” They were practicing jujutsu for good reason. The ancient art had been designed to fight an armed and armored opponent – it was the best thing to do when you were unarmed and near a werewolf and you couldn’t get away.

Abel blushed and pulled himself up. “Sorry, Allison.” He always used her full name. The red-haired boy still wanted to date her, but she had put him off that for now. She told she wasn’t ready to really date again, and that was true. She didn’t tell him that she planned not to be here that much longer. They had developed something like a friendship. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She smiled at him. “Want to talk about it?” She said it automatically, because that’s what friends did, wasn’t it? She didn’t consider herself part of her grandfather’s personal army, and Abel did, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.

“I’m not supposed to,” he said. “But … can you promise to keep it a secret? I mean, I don’t know why you aren’t supposed to know, but if you promise, I know you won’t say anything right?” His face was a mixture of worry and hope. 

She nodded, feeling suddenly bad. She was not going to be sure if she would keep this promise, but she was curious.

“I am going on my first hunt,” he whispered. “I know that it is what I’ve been working toward, but I’m kind of scared.” He looked around. “You know, I’ve never been up close with one of them that hadn’t been captured already.”

Allison looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. He thought she liked him because she was pretty. Everyone assured her that she still was even though her eyes, whenever she looked in the mirror, immediately went to the two thin scars on the left side of her face that the best plastic surgeons could not remove. And maybe, she had thought he was counting on her being the boss’s granddaughter, and she couldn’t really blame if he had, because Gerard was notorious for playing status games. Now, she realized that he respected her for surviving. She would have laughed in his face, but that would have been mean. She hadn’t done anything to survive. Either Scott had managed to pull back or she was very lucky. This didn’t mean she wouldn’t use it to her advantage.

“My advice is don’t get close if you don’t’ have to.” She says it lightly. “So, where is the hunt?”

He looks down. “You sure you won’t tell anyone that I told you?” He looked hopeful. “Your grandfather was really hardcore that we not tell anyone.”

“I promise,” Allison lied. 

“We’re going to Beacon Hills. Two teams of us.” He whispered. “I’m in the second group.” He reaches out slowly to grab Allison’s wrist, looking at her to see if she would let him. She does not move her arm away, because she wants to hear more. “We’re supposed to get the one who hurt you.”

Allison watched Abel’s face. He’s expecting her to be grateful, and why wouldn’t he? He’s been taught that werewolves are terrible monsters and those that spill human blood are to be put down without mercy. She saw that he thinks he was doing the right thing and that he was obeying the Code. He didn’t know, and she could not tell him now.

She allowed him to interpret the play of emotions across her face as anger. “We’re leaving in a few hours,” he continued. “I am sorry you can’t go.”

“I am too close to the situation,” she replied. She was already plotting out the ways she could get to a phone. She knew that if her grandfather had given specifics instructions that no one was to know, he would have blocked cell phone reception to the compound. 

Abel smiled at her. She couldn’t help but like him; she couldn’t help but worry for him. She was going to stop him, of course, but she was hoping she could do it without anyone getting hurt. “Want to go get dinner before I leave?”

Allison smiled falsely and brightly and went with Abel to dinner. She made small talk and offers encouragement to Abel. Internally, she plotted out her escape. She had two alternatives. The first one was to break into the motor pool, hotwire a car, and drive to where she can use her phone before driving right down to Beacon Hills. It was the plan most emotionally attractive to her, but it was also the one with the most danger. If someone noticed the motor pool broken into, if they noticed a car was missing, they’d warn Gerard immediately. His plans would change, and it would not take him long to figure out who had done it.

The second alternative was a cross-country hike through the woods until she got to one of the small communities near their compound. The hike would be dangerous but not impossible since it was the night before the full moon. She would not be able to get to Beacon Hills in time to help, and that was what she wanted to do. 

As she finished dinner, she wondered what her mother would say. Her mother would undoubtedly go for the option that had the best chance of success, even if it was less emotionally satisfying. Allison decided to do the best thing. The sure thing. The right thing.

She waited until the convoy of vehicles had left the compound and then forty-five minutes after that, making sure she was seen entering her rooms. It would take twelve hours for the convoy to reach its destination, and the hunters would sleep through the day. She had plenty of time. 

She did not try to blaze a trail through untouched wilderness. While a straight line would most likely be quicker, there could be ravines or other unknown obstacles that could slow her down. She could also get lost, moon or no moon. Her best bet would be to follow the road but stay about one hundred feet away so no one would spot her if they drove by. She took that precaution.

It was going to be a long walk, but she was not even the slightest bit tired. She was elated. She knew something bad was going to happen and instead of watching helplessly from the sidelines, she was acting to prevent it. Now, she could understand what Abel yearned to be. She could understand why it mattered so much to be effective. 

She checked her phone every fifteen minutes until she reached a location with at least some reception. She tried Stiles first. She had considered the possibility that Gerard had her parents’ and Stiles’ phones bugged, so her first call would be to Stiles. If he had been training as an emissary like she had learned, he might have other ways to warn Derek.

Stiles was actually sleeping. Who would have thought it? “Gragl? Hello?”

“Stiles, this is Allison. Get up. There is big trouble.”

Thankfully, it only took a few moments for Stiles to focus. “Allison? What’s going on?” The connection is bad because she called as soon as she got a signal, so she could not hear much else.

“My grandfather is on the move. Two teams are going to Beacon Hills – one is going for Scott at Eichen and the other I suspect is going for Derek. You have to warn them.”

Stiles was not fully awake. “Can you give me anything more?”

“No. He cut me out, but I got some information from one of the participants. I won’t be able to get there in time. I’m calling my parents next.”

“Thanks, Allison. I mean it.” He hung up immediately.

Her father was far more alert. Immediately so. “Dad? It’s me. Gerard and two teams are on their way to Beacon Hills right now. I’m pretty sure they aren’t going to tell you. One is going for Scott and the other is going for Derek.” She rushes out. She knew that if they were bugged, her father would immediately hang up. 

It brought a smile to her face that her father did not question her at all. He did not ask how she knew. He did not ask why she was telling him. She knew her father loved her, but now she knew her father trusted her. “How much travel time so far?”

“Four hours. They should be there in the morning. I’ve warned the emissary. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you in that compound. I don’t know what he might do if he figures out that you did something. Can you get to a town?” He must have turned and explained things to Victoria. 

She had grabbed the phone. “Allison, go to a town and find some place public to wait. Call us when you get there. We are driving up now to get you.”

Allison frowned into the night. “Okay. I can look after myself until whatever is happening down there is resolved. Shouldn’t you do something?”

Victoria replied in an authoritative voice. “No. We warn the sheriff and let him handle it. The situation is going to be confusing and dangerous. We don’t need to complicate things by adding another side. “

Allison hated what her mother was saying, but, just as it was better to walk out than steal a car, keeping the situation as simple as possible is also the better idea. “I’ll find something. See you soon.”

 

LYDIA MARTIN 

Lydia stood in her closet – of course, she had a walk-in closet, what was she, an orphan? – and tried to decide what type of skirt is the best to wear to a gunfight. She was both terribly afraid and exhilarated that she was even considering this. Stiles had called her, because he had promised to, and told her what Allison had told him. He had told her and then begged her to stay at home. 

She wasn’t going to stay home. She wasn’t going to run into a gunfight, but she was going to learn what she could learn and do what she could do. Ignorance was not happening.

“Sweetheart, I am going to have to side with the boy on this one.” She spoke, but she was not sure where the words came from. “You aren’t going anywhere near this.”

She let out a gasp, because while her mouth said the words, her mind did not. She shook her head; it had to be stress.

“Sorry for intruding like that. I’ve been very careful not to startle you, but this was the only way. You cannot go there. It is going to get very violent, and these are Gerard Argent’s trained killers. While you might want to indulge in the imaginary invulnerability of youth, I cannot take the chance.”

Lydia took a deep breath. Was she going insane? 

“No, you are completely stable. And thanks to Deaton’s treatments, so am I. But don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and have no memory of this. I do need you to do one tiny little thing for me.”

Lydia took a few steps backward and sat on the bed. “What do you want me to do?” While the voice was hers, she thought she could place the pattern. It seemed natural to her, but it wasn’t. 

“I need you to call Jackson. I won’t be having Gerard Argent succeed in whatever the heck he is planning. Call it a grudge.”

Lydia was confused. “Can’t you call him? I mean, you are my voice.” 

“Unfortunately, while I do have present access to your other skills, which I am using to the best of my ability, I do not have access to the bond between you and the ghost. Thus, he won’t respond to my call. Only to yours.”

Lydia trembled. She was not used to being out of control. She sat on the bed and pulled the top cover around her. 

“I am afraid I am going to have to insist. Just say his name. Aren’t you frightened? Don’t you want him near you now?”

There was a small part of Lydia that didn’t want to give into this strangeness talking in her voice, but she was afraid and it was a comfort to having her personal specter around. “Jackson,” she whispered. 

“Thank you, Lydia. Now, I’ll give him his instructions. Go to sleep, and when you wake up, you will think this is all a bad dream caused by nerves.” 

Lydia lied back down on the bed, or was that also in her mind? Part of her struggled to stay awake, but part of her was already relegating this whole scene into her subconscious mind as a vivid dream. The dizzying rush of sensation rocked her core and she fled from it.

 

DEREK HALE 

“No,” Derek commanded. “Absolutely not.”

He stared at his three new betas and his emissary. Fantastic, he thought, not even a month into a new pack and he was facing a rebellion.

Stiles was scowling at him from behind the couch. Derek knew he was standing in order to prove the point that his leg was not a legitimate reason to leave him out of this. It was absolutely a legitimate reason to leave him out of this.

Isaac was staring at his hands; he was still getting used to the ability to produce his claws. He wasn’t angry, Derek, noted, he was worried. If Derek did not have to be stern and commanding now, he might have smiled. He wasn’t used to many people being worried for him.

Erica was furious and openly showing it on her face. She was furious at him, but it did not hurt because he understood why she was furious. If he had been in her position, he would have been furious as well.

Boyd was slightly disapproving, but he sat there, calm and collected. Derek was already glad about having offered him the bite. 

“Look, Stiles, you are an emissary. Your duties are diplomacy, magical support, and helping the pack integrate into human society. Not combat. And you three have been barely turned a month. Gerard Argent is one of the most experienced hunters on the planet.” He tries being reasonable. “None of you are ready, so you are not going with me. You’re going to go to a wilderness area and deal with the full moon.”

Stiles’ scowl did not lessen. “Did you not hear what I said – Allison said there were two groups so that means you are going to heavily outnumbered. You may be a big bad alpha, but you still go down if you get enough bullets in you.” 

“He’s got a point, Derek,” said Boyd. “You needed a pack to be strong enough to fight off people like this. We’re your pack.”

Derek could not help but yell. “You aren’t ready!” He takes a deep breath. “Just trust me on this, please? Do as I say, and stay safe. Next time my life is put in danger by hunters, I guarantee I’ll let you fight.”

Stiles’ scowl did not lessen but his shoulders sagged. “Sure. I’ll call my Dad and tell them I am taking a short trip with the baby wolves. Can you at least share with us your plan?”

Stiles’ submission didn’t sit well with the betas, but they all nodded in agreement with the second part. 

“I know they are coming. They will come at me during the full moon and try to take me by surprise. My advantage is that they’ll think they can take me by surprise and they think I’ll be dealing with new betas on the full moon.” He reinforced that with a glare; that was another reason he wanted to go. “By myself I can get the drop on them.”

Erica shook her head. “Why not just come with us? Why fight them at all? It’s not like they can just hang around waiting for you!”

Derek gritted his teeth. Why couldn’t they just do what he said? 

Isaac is the one who speaks up, quietly. “They won’t go away until they get what they want. They’re already breaking their own rules.” Derek should not have been surprised by Isaac’s insight. He was savvier than he appeared to be sometimes.

“And they’re not just here for you.” Stiles observed quietly. 

“Both true. You’ve got three hours before sunset. I want you four on the road in an hour. Call Morrell and your father, Stiles, they need to know.” He turns and heads into his room. He was not going to spend that hour arguing with them. 

Derek stood in his room, listening to the others prepare. There were some complaints, but they were the good type of complaints. They come from feelings of loyalty and a desire to prove themselves, but he was right. 

He could hear Stiles approaching long before he knocked on the door. “Come in.” He expected this. 

“If you are here to argue against this, you can just … shut up. I’ve made up my mind.”

“No. No, I know you’re right. I hate it that you’re right. I loathe it. I loathe it like the last four episodes of Battlestar Galactica, but you are right.” Stiles leaned up against the door frame. “I am just making sure that you are doing this for the right reasons. That is my responsibility. You could just leave; we could leave.”

Derek frowned at him. “I couldn’t. All four of you have ties here. There is also no guarantee that Gerard and his goons would leave us alone if we did leave. We have the advantage of allies here. We have responsibilities.” He could not believe that Stiles would say such a thing. “I am surprised you would suggest something like that. You’d leave your Dad? You’d leave Scott?”

“Oh, fuck no. I wouldn’t leave. I just wanted to make sure you were staying for the right reasons.” He turned. “Call me when you are done. If I don’t hear from you in 36 hours, I’m coming back anyway.”

Derek nodded. He was watching the human as he paused in the doorway. 

“Derek, I want you to remember that you are important to. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone, so if you have to run. Run.” Stiles carefully moved away. 

He heard them leave with no further discussion. Now all he had to do was wait until nightfall. Even Gerard wouldn’t be brash enough to start a gunfight downtown 

The time passed slowly. Derek felt ready. He already knew he would be on the roof when they came into the loft. He would come down behind them, cutting off the advantage of range. If he could, he’d get Gerard first. Cutting the head off the snake was always a valid tactic. 

The sun had been down for about a half hour when he received a phone call on the roof. It was from the Sheriff. 

“Derek.” The sheriff spoke from a position of command. “They have Scott. They took them right out of Eichen not twenty minutes ago.”

Derek growled. “How is that possible? Didn’t Morrell warn them?” He shook his head. “Why would they take him? Why not kill him?” 

“I don’t know, but they’ve got to be after you now. I can have squad cars there in five minutes.”

“Sheriff, that can’t happen. You find Scott. I don’t know what’s going on, but this isn’t something I can hold back on. This is life or death. Be careful.” He hung up before the Sheriff could say anything more. 

Derek leaves the loft and heads to the roof. No matter how good they masked their scent – and it will be masked, they can’t hide their sounds coming up the staircase or using the elevator. Their only hope to attack him in the loft would have been if he didn’t know they were coming, and he did. Werewolves don’t actually have their superior hearing active all the time, or they’d go mad. 

He would hear any hunter, no matter how good they are at stealth, as they came to the apartment. When this was over, he will teach his betas what he was about to do – how to focus your senses from everything into one thing. He would teach them how to do more than just control the shift; he would teach them to use that feeling. He would teach them everything, because that was what alphas do. 

But first, he had to win this fight. First, he had to figure out what that old bastard hunter was up to. 

Patience was not the wolf’s strength. Patience was the man’s strength. He was both wolf and man, so he had that strength. He waited, perched on the roof, senses fixed, eyes closed. He did not have to wait for long – thirty minutes after the sheriff had called him. Eight people coming up the stairs – one of them being dragged and one of them walking more slowly and more carefully than the others. 

Derek very carefully took off his shoes and headed to the edge of the building. It took him only a few minutes to locate the three ubiquitous SUVs with two guards on them. Gerard had limited reinforcements. He returned to his post, focused, and measured their steps. They would be at the doors to the loft in a minute. He moved toward the entrance to the stairs from the roof. Once he was sure they were in the loft, he would go in behind them, using the confined space to neutralize their firearms.

He was lucky he had shut down his hearing in preparation for gun fire, because even without enhanced senses, he could hear the flash bang grenades going off. If his senses – or any of his betas’ senses had been up – they would be stunned for minutes and sitting ducks. 

No one was, and he had an Argent to thank for that. Wasn’t that a kick in the balls? But that reflection could come later – he had problems to solve. 

When he reached the floor of his loft, the door was open and he could hear Gerard’s harsh voice complaining about the lack of targets. Derek grabbed one of the two hunters at the door way and tossed him back into the entrance of the stairway with all the force he could muster – and as an alpha that was quite a lot. If his brute strength hadn’t busted a few bones, tumbling down the staircase might do so. He grabbed the other standing at the doorway and used him as a human shield. 

“Now this is a surprise,” said Gerard. He had a pistol in his hand, but Derek knew that it was definitely going to have wolfsbane bullets. This had been designed to kill. “Where’s your pack, Hale?”

Derek kept in the doorway. The hunter in front of him struggled, but he was no match for his strength. “Not here. Why don’t you just get the hell out of here?” He scoped the room. Aside from Gerard, there were two more hunters with assault rifles and two hunters holding Scott – they had animal control gaffes that must have been reinforced to deal with werewolves. 

“I’m afraid we’re not going to do that, but then you knew that. I want to eradicate the Hale line, and that means eliminating you and all your betas.” Gerard chuckled; the veteran hunter made it sound like a joke. “We were hoping to do it all at once. So why don’t you let my hunter go? It is not like a hostage is going to stop us from doing what was necessary.”

Suddenly, the hunter Derek had grappled tried to throw him off – he wasn’t going to, but it wasn’t calculated – it was panicked. They were going to open fire on their own man.

Derek pushed forward rushing the nearest man with the assault rifle as gunfire filled the room. He wished he had been as effective as his uncle in the physical aptitudes of being an alpha. Peter had been fast, and he needed all that speed. 

The hunter he was holding was dead before he reached the first man with the assault rifle. Derek pushed the corpse so hard that both it and the man with the assault rifle went through the window and out onto the balcony. Gerard moved to one side, keeping away from him and snatched one of the gaffes from the hunter. “Abel, just don’t stand there.” 

The melee continued. Derek was strong, powerful and fast, but there were still three hunters left, one armed with an assault rifle, one with a pistol and one with those annoying stun batons. It was chaotic and loud. Gerard managed to stay out of reach, manhandling Scott with the gaffes until he was up against the shattered window with the sole remaining hunter. Derek had managed to put the other two down without doing more than breaking a few bones. 

But he wasn’t unscathed. He had been shot at least a half-dozen times with regular rounds and twice with Gerard’s wolfsbane shells. The old ghoul was grinning at him. “Now, it’s a waiting game. You’re losing strength. You aren’t as fast. You can’t get to me without me putting you one between your eyes.”

Through the fight Scott had been growling and acting up, but he had no purchase on the gaffes – which also, he realized now, were shocking him. He was just laying on the ground now, growling but not moving. 

Derek knew what was going to happen now, and he gathered himself for a last spring. He had given it his best shot, but it had not been enough. “You will never find the others. They’ll never let you find them. It is all for nothing.”

“As long as I have your last beta,” Gerard jerked the gaffe cruelly. “All I have to do is wait. You were the only real threat, and I’m about to end that one right now.” 

The other hunter was looking at Derek too; the man wasn’t as blasé as Gerard. He had seen everyone else go down. Derek looked down and saw something very strange. Scott wasn’t growling anymore, instead, he was working one finger into the gaffe’s cords, loosening them. He shouldn’t be able to do that; had he recovered in the middle of a firefight? That seemed unlikely. 

Whatever, Derek wasn’t going to draw attention to it. “You think you can shoot me before I can kill you? You sound pretty confident.” Derek was pretty sure that he was beginning to feel a little dizzy. He would have enough energy for one more burst, and if he didn’t have a distraction – which he hoped Scott could provide – he would die at the end. 

“I’m an old man, Hale. You take risks when survival is on the line.” He sneered as if he had some secret. “So you going to die on your feet or are you going to make a move?”

Scott suddenly stood up. “Make a move? You’ve been watching too many action movies.” That he stood up was surprise enough, but to Derek, the bigger surprise was that it wasn’t Scott’s voice that came out of him. It was Jackson’s voice. Scott punched Gerard right in the face as hard as he could and Derek could hear the jaw shattering. As tough as the veteran hunter was, he was still elderly. 

Derek slammed into the remaining hunter who was shifting his gun to Scott. As weak as he was, it was enough to put the man down. He gasped and staggered back. He needed to get the wolfsbane out, but first he had to figure out what was going on. “How?”

Scott/Jackson gave him a glare that was very familiar and yet completely alien to Scott’s face. “It is called possession, Derek, look it up. Ow.” The ghost shook the body’s hand. “So I can feel pain. Good to know.” He had reflexively punched Gerard, but that punch had driven the feral beta’s claws into his hand. 

Derek went to Gerard and got his pistol. He needed to take care of the wolfsbane immediately. “Can you … can you make sure you get their weapons for me? “

Scott/Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Why not just kill them? Especially this old cancer-ridden fuck here.” He booted Gerard in the side. Derek noted that death hadn’t made Jackson any better of a human being, but he had not imagined that it would.

Derek gasped out while he was working with the bullets. “Killing them means more will come; arresting them means embarrassment. It will give us more time.” 

“Fine.” It was an exasperated sound. As the werewolf-possessing ghost gathered the weapons. “You are going to tell people what I can do? Maybe you shouldn’t.” 

Derek frowned. He couldn’t deal with this right now; there was too much to do in the immediate future. “Tell you what. I won’t say anything for now, if you behave. We’ll talk about this later.”

It worked out for both of them.


	3. Salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alpha Pack arrives, aiming to take control of the Hale Legacy. The pack is in good shape, but Derek is not confident in their ability to withstand the assault of the alphas, and he is not willing to risk those people he's come to care about. The Argents struggle to take control of their own family's legacy. Stiles learns the price of keeping secrets, while Lydia's behavior becomes even stranger.

ALLISON ARGENT

The SUV pulled up in front of Beacon Hills High School. “I do not want to sound like a broken record, Allison, but you do not have to do this. There is home schooling; there are private schools.” Her mother put the car in neutral. 

Allison smiled back at her. “I know, Mom, but I want to do this.” It would be almost one complete year since she had walked into this place for the first time. This semester would be different; it was impossible that it would not be.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me or to anyone else.”

“I know that. This isn’t about proving anything. This is about choice. I choose to have both – what our family does and what a teenage girl does. I have three semesters left before I graduate; I want dances, and friends, and boyfriends, and yearbook club and everything else.” She states, loudly. “Don’t worry, I won’t neglect my training or anything else.”

Victoria gave her a smile. “It never crossed my mind that you would.” Then the smile disappeared. “You understand that there is a pack in the school.” 

“I have a concealed knife, and I doubt they are going to try to kill me in the lunchroom. They’ve not been misbehaving, have they?” 

“No.” Her mother spoke with conviction. “But they are still young, bitten wolves. Their control would be tenuous.” Allison was glad Victoria made an effort not to look her in the face as memories flashed over them. “I just want you to be careful.”

“I will be,” Allison assured her. “I know what’s going on now; I know what to look for.” It wasn’t an accusation. It probably wasn’t an accusation. “See you tonight!”

Allison got out of the car and walked toward the school. She had chosen to dress for the first day of class as if she expected everyone would want a look at her. She had done her hair so the two thin lines down the left side of her face were clearly visible. She knew this was going to be rough, but she also knew that acting like she did not care was the best way to get past it.

The other students were going to stare at her and then they were going to talk. They were going to talk about how her psychotic boyfriend had slashed up her face. They were going to talk about how her psychotic aunt had burned to death. They were going to talk about how her grandfather rotted in jail because he came to get revenge. Coming back was not going to be easy. 

Allison did not need it to be easy, she told herself as she walked straight into the school. There were the expected stares and whispered conversations, but it was not as bad as she had thought it might be. On the other hand, maybe it was as bad as it could be; maybe she was stronger than she thought. She hoped that was true.

Suddenly, her passage was interrupted by a squeal of delight. “At last!” Lydia cried. “God, this school was getting so boring without you!” Lydia spoke very loudly, Allison realized, which meant that she was not just speaking to Allison. “I am so happy you are back.”

Allison hugged Lydia back when the strawberry blond grappled her. She understood that the glee and the hug were real, but she also understood there was an element of social marking. Lydia was informing others of Allison’s renewed place in the social hierarchy. Maybe I should have paid attention to that more the first time I came here.

Lydia had commandeered her schedule almost without taking a breath. “Only four classes in common, tsk, but we do have the same lunch period. You will be joining me, right?”

Allison nodded. “I couldn’t imagine eating anywhere else.” She continued towards home room. 

“It looks like you have Ms. Blake,” said Lydia. “She was an English teacher who came in the fall. She is actually pretty popular and not just because she’s a pretty good teacher. All the – “ Lydia snorted derisively “ – boys think she’s hot. But she has the most amazing shoes. They have even made me jealous.”

Allison could not help but smile. This was exactly what she needed right now – girl talk. “I did miss you, Lydia.” She hugged her hard once again. 

Lydia returned the hug after but a moment of readjustment from Queen Bee to Good Friend. While close, she whispered in Allison’s ear. “Jackson said to tell you welcome back for him as well.”

Allison felt only momentarily unsettled by the mention of the ghost, but she knew that this was, in a small way, a test from Lydia. I’ve accepted you; will you accept me? She whispered back. “Is he here now?” 

Lydia nodded and Allison spoke out loud. “Thanks. I’m glad he’s here too.” They went to home room. Allison allowed herself a few minutes to talk to other people who had all these questions. There were awkward discussions, but it was not as bad as it could have been. She was sure that they would fade over the next weeks.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened until the way to lunch. She was walking down the hallway when she saw Stiles Stilinski leaning up against the lockers near the lunch room. He had his cane with him, but it was leaning against the wall. His back against the lockers were supporting more of his weight than his leg. He was whispering with a blonde girl. The girl was certainly attractive in a wild way with a red mini-dress and a black leather jacket; she was certainly determined to draw attention to herself. Their conversation was intimate but it did not look like to Allison that it was romantic. 

The girl looked up, saw her coming, and walked away from Stiles, heading down the hallway towards the lunchroom. They locked eyes, and Allison could sense a bit of challenge from the girl, but that was all. Stiles stayed where he was; he was waiting for her.

“Hey, Allison. Nice to see you back.” 

“It’s good to be back.” She came to rest in front of him. “I hope everything is going okay.” It was an absurd pleasantry, but there were still people in the hallway. They looked at each other until everyone was out of earshot.

“I wanted to say thank you, once again.” Stiles started. 

“You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing, but you are welcome.” She responded instantly. It was something she had decided on long ago. “I hope we can still be friends.” 

“Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

Allison looked Stiles straight in the eye. “I have learned a lot about the world in the last year. I know that what we do is important, and it is too important to let Kate and Gerard and people like them ruin it. The Argents have protected a lot of people from people like Peter. That’s what we are supposed to do; that’s what I am supposed to do. But I can’t pretend that this isn’t going to make things difficult between you and me.”

“Are you going to kill my pack because they are werewolves?” Stiles challenged. 

“No. But it does mean that I am going to be suspicious of them, because it’s my job to be suspicious. You haven’t read our archives, but I have. They’re just like people, and some of them use their power to hurt others. Some can’t control themselves, and hurt others. If you took them to the police, it would put all of them in danger, not just the guilty ones, and you know that. We are necessary.” She shook her head. “I can’t expect you to be okay with that.”

Stiles bit his lower lip. “I’m not. I can understand what you just told me, but you don’t have the right to police them. You don’t; I don’t care if your family’s been doing it for centuries.” He looks up at her. “I’m not going to hate you for it, not yet. But I’ll protect what’s mine.” 

Allison heard the passion in his voice. “Does it help? What you are doing now?” 

Stiles nodded and made ready to head to the lunch room. “It does, more than you might think. Does that …” He flailed at her with one hand. “Help?” 

“It does. It felt better than just turning my back.” 

“I know what you mean. Come have lunch with me and the others.”

Allison was impressed that Stiles knew that it would only be a matter of time before she identified Derek’s pack. After all, her parents already knew their names. She walked next to him while watching him surreptitiously. As good as he had gotten on the prosthetic leg and the cane, he was never going to have the same control of his balance. Knocking him down would always be very easy. As much as Gerard’s ethics sickened her, his strategies and tactics had always been sound. Know thy enemy. Or, in this case, know thy potential enemy.

Stiles lead her to their table with their lunches. Derek’s three betas sat right across from them, watching her with only mild skepticism and no fear. She was not upset; she had no reason yet to make them afraid of her. 

“Hey, guys. This is Allison. She’s come back to school, and I wanted you to meet her,” Stiles said as way of explanation. “This is Erica, Isaac, and Boyd.” 

“Hi.” She flashed them her brightest smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I saw you around last year, but I wasn’t here long enough to get to meet any of you.”

Isaac finally responded. “Yeah. So this is totally awkward; I’m going to go.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he winced. “Sit down, Isaac. This is important. I’m not asking you to like her; I’m asking you to meet her.” 

Boyd spoke up next. “You warned us about Gerard. Why?”

Allison smiled once more at the largest beta. “Because he was wrong.” Then she took a bite of her sandwich to show it was just that simple. 

The others began eating and then Eric said. “So, what classes are you taking?” After that, the discussion went to things that other high school students talk about. In the middle of the discussion, Stiles caught Allison’s eye and winked. 

She winked right back.

 

DEREK HALE 

Derek stood outside his loft’s doors, waiting for the people he had called to arrive. He was upset, but he carefully built what he hoped was a face of calm command – the face that he had seen his mother present to others time and time again. He needed to get this meeting done before school was out, so he could present the news to his pack and hopefully seem that he had the slightest clue what their next move would be.

Of course, the first one there would be Chris Argent. The hunter took one look at the door as the elevator opened and his face fell. “Is that what I think it is?”

Derek sighed and nodded. “Yes.” He did not want to talk to an Argent, but he knew that he had to let the hunters know, if only to keep them out of the way

Chris Argent went up to the strange symbol on the door. He looked back at Derek. “Why is this happening?”

“You think I know?” Derek snarled. “I haven’t been an alpha for even a year yet. The Alpha Pack recruits from those who have distinguished themselves.”

Both of them jumped as Deaton appeared at the top of the staircase. “You are the last of the Hales. That name still carries weight; having you in their pack would give them more legitimacy.” Derek was sure that Deaton just took the stairs rather than the elevator for the effect his sudden appearance would have on them. You could never tell from his face, but Derek was sure the veterinarian liked impressing people.

Derek grumbled as he stared at the door. “Legitimacy? Well, it doesn’t matter. They’ve declared their intent.”

Chris continued on as if this was a problem to be solved and not a disaster. “I appreciate the heads up, Derek. From what little I know, they don’t like involving outsiders, but knowing that there will be strange wolves in town will help minimize … problems. What can we expect in terms of behavior?”

Derek threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know anything other than each of them killed their own packs.” 

Deaton stepped in. “I believe I can be of assistance. Most of their activity will be focused on Derek, but that may not be the only reason for them to be here. While Deucalion does collect alphas for his pack, he also may be interested in your father’s incarceration, Chris. Gerard was responsible for his blindness.”

The hunter sighed. “More revenge.” 

“Too early to tell,” said the veterinarian. “I appreciate you calling us, Derek. Sharing information helped us over this last year. So, I’ll reveal that my sister Marin has an association with Deucalion. While she is not officially bonded to him as an Emissary, she has worked with him in the past.”

Derek suddenly growled in frustration. “What do I do?”

No one said anything. Derek suspected that was because they didn’t have any more of an idea than he had. He had four betas – three of them had been turned just over three months before and the other was in an insane asylum – which was nothing compared to the power Deucalion commanded.

The elevator hummed to life once more. It was probably the Sheriff, the third person that Derek had called. 

“At least,” observed the veterinarian, “with John’s help, we can lower the risk of discovery and innocent bystanders getting injured.” No one could disagree with that.

The Sheriff was not alone in the elevator. “Hey, Derek, I found a friend of yours outside, and I brought him up to see you.” At the look of horror on the Derek’s, Chris’s and Alan’s faces, the sheriff winced. “Awww, crap. He’s not a friend of yours, is he?”

Deucalion chuckled. “No, but I wish to be Derek’s friend. Thank you, sheriff, for guiding me.” The blind alpha kept a strong grip on the sheriff’s arm. “While I am sure it might occur to you to attack me, and there is the slimmest possibility you might actually kill me, I can guarantee the sheriff would not be around to see it. Luckily for him, I am only here because I would like to have a little chat.”

Derek snarled in anger but also with the instinctual class of an alpha in his territory. “What do you want?”

Chris Argent and Alan Deaton moved back. Both of them knew that it was not safe to be anywhere between two alphas challenging each other. While only words had been exchanged so far, there was definitely a challenge being made.

“I think that should be obvious by my reputation. I want you in my pack.” Deucalion talked as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “I know you might have a hard time believing that, so I came to make it clear.”

The sheriff may not have known much about werewolves, but he knew about hostage situations. His eyes slid around the room, as if trying to find a way to get out of Deucalion’s grip. Derek saw him do this and shook his head as a warning. 

“I do. It’s not like my pack is powerful; it’s not like I am powerful.” It hurt Derek to say these things; it went against his instincts. “And I don’t care why you want me; I’m not going to kill my pack just to join yours.”

The sheriff did not like that news at all, but he remained still.

“You are the Hale alpha. This is something that you might not know, Derek; I am sure the sheriff does not know, and I suspect that Mr. Argent there might not know, but there is an advantage being an alpha in a family of born wolves. When the position is passed down from a born wolf of the same family to another born wolf of the same family, the transmission is … purer, I guess, would be the right word. Not just power is transferred, but the subtleties of power. Talia Hale, your mother, was capable of shifting into a full wolf. That is exceedingly rare,” Deucalion continued. “I believe that as long as the power of the Hale Alpha is transmitted to a born wolf of the Hale line that potentiality is passed as well: Talia to Laura, Laura to Peter, Peter to you.”

“You are insane,” Derek spat. “I’ll never be able to do that. It took my mother years to learn to do that . . . “ 

“Perhaps, but if you kill your own pack, you may be able to accelerate the learning curve. You will find yourself stronger, faster, able to do far more than you can now. I am wagering that would extend even to mastering your mother’s talents. You’ve already demonstrated her abilities in leadership. You are standing here in alliance with local law enforcement, your mother’s emissary, and an Argent. But don’t take my word for it. Alan can confirm this for you, can’t you?” 

When the veterinarian spoke again, he had adopted a specific tone – a neutral force negotiating between sides, even though it was clear from his face that he did not like this conversation. “Deucalion is right; Emissaries have noticed that traits pass between alphas of born wolf bloodlines.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I am not killing my pack for you.” Derek simply repeated himself.

“You would squander your family’s legacy on a loner, an epileptic, an abuse victim, and a feral monster in a cage?” Deucalion chided. “I did not choose them, Derek, you did. I’ll give you to the next full moon to kill one of your betas, or we’ll do it for you. Each new full moon will see another dead. And when you run out of betas, we’ll kill you.” 

Derek scowled in response. There was nothing more to say.

Alan Deaton steps forward. “You would end the Hale’s legacy if you can’t get it for your pack?”

“I would, but I do not have to go that far. If Derek refuses to join my pack, I will kill him and the last Hale will become the alpha.” Deucalion released the sheriff’s arm with a smirk. “To forestall your protests – I have Cora Hale. She is part of my pack and the only beta I currently have.”

Derek just stared at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.” As the sheriff moved away from the blind alpha, Deucalion got back into the elevator. Derek lost his control and his shout echoed through the building. “You’re lying!” 

 

ETHAN

“I feel like a prostitute.”

Aiden was unimpressed with his attitude, Ethan could tell. “Jesus, Ethan, it’s not like he told us to fuck ‘em. We’re just supposed to get to know them, so we can get close to Derek’s betas.”

“You don’t have a problem with this? We’re going to pretend to be seniors in high school.” He hoped the face he made conveyed to Aiden how much he despised the idea. “We’re going to get to know two students for the sole purpose of learning about the secrets of Derek’s pack.” 

“You’ve ripped people in half, Ethan. This is so damn hard?”

Ethan did not want to say that ripping people in half had indeed been hard. It had been easier when it had been their original pack of rapists and killers. Later though, they had torn through anyone who resisted Deucalion’s plans, and Ethan couldn’t say that they had deserved it. He was not squeamish and he had done his duty, but he hadn’t liked it. Aiden had liked it, but that was because Aiden respected Deucalion so much he wanted to be like Deucalion, so by that logic, if the alpha of alphas thought it was necessary, then Aiden thought it was necessary as well.

He wasn’t going to say anything like that to his brother though. “He’s a hacker. What if he’s some three-hundred-pound pimple face in his mom’s basement?” 

Aiden laughed. “Then it’ll be easy … for him.” 

Ethan sighed as he looked around the room. “We don’t have much furniture.” 

“What do we need furniture for? We’re a pack.”

Ethan closed his eyes. He was not going to have this fight again. “I’m just tired okay. We might be a pack, but that doesn’t mean I can’t miss having a home, you know? I’m going to bed.”

“It’s 8:30!”

“I’m tired, and I have to get up tomorrow and go to school and flirt with a computer nerd. Good night.”

Ethan shut the door to the bedroom. At least he didn’t have to bunk with Aiden any more. He threw himself down on the bed to look up at the blank ceiling and the blank walls. “And I’m not really tired.” 

He had opened up his laptop – he was finally able to buy one and get it set up, so he could look at how normal people lived their lives – and was watching YouTube videos when there was a knock on the door. “Come in.” 

Kali entered and stared down at him lying on the bed. This was new. Kali may be female and she may have taught them to fight, but she was in no way anything like a mother-figure to them. 

“Oh, shit. Am I in trouble?”

Kali shakes her head. “Can’t we talk without you being in trouble?” She sat down without asking permission to do; asking wasn’t Kali’s style. 

Ethan sat up. Talking when you are lying down was too much like submitting. While there was a clear hierarchy in this pack, no one submitted to each other. It was difficult, but alphas don’t submit to each other and remain alphas.

“We can talk.”

“I heard from Aiden that you were having trouble with your assignment.” 

Ethan didn’t answer her. He knows there was a line there where complaining about a command crossed over into insubordination. Werewolves, even alphas, who were insubordinate to Deucalion didn’t live that long. 

She tried a different tactic. “Why are you here, Ethan?” 

“You know why. You know how much we owe him. I’ll get over it. It’s just …”

“It reminds you of being an omega, doesn’t it?” Kali asked. Ethan paled because it was true; he just did not want to think of it that way. 

“You should have realized this already, Ethan, but being in a pack like ours isn’t easy. Most packs can rely on their instincts to know their place. We have to rely on the human side more than most packs. Isn’t that strange?” She laughed and wiggled her toes. “I do not like my human side. That is one of the reasons I don’t wear shoes. Wolves don’t wear shoes.”

Ethan had never asked why she didn’t wear shoes. He had thought it was because she was deadly when she used the claws on all four of her limbs. She was hands down the best hand-to-hand combatant in the pack. His brother and he were the strongest, while Ennis was the toughest. Deucalion was the fastest, had the best senses (other than sight), and was by far the most intelligent. 

“I didn’t know.”

“It also means that sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do. For example, Duke still thinks that I joined this pack to be with Ennis. I love Ennis, but that’s not why I did what Duke wanted.” She laughed. “But I let him think it because there is no point in offending Duke’s enormous ego.”

Ethan laughed with her. “Why did you join?”

“I loved being a beta, Ethan. I loved the thrill of the hunt and the joy of combat, I still do. When my alpha died in an incredibly stupid accident, the position of alpha passed to me along with all his other betas. I felt trapped by the responsibility – every bit of joy I had as a werewolf was gone. I wanted my freedom back, and Duke’s offer gave me that chance – to be free for the rest of my life.” She looked him right in the eyes. “Are there regrets? Yes. Now, do you regret no longer being an omega?”

Ethan shook his head. 

“Then do what you need to do. No one here is going to think less of you. Duke’s not stupid. This may look like an easy play, but that’s the last thing many stupid werewolves tell themselves. Lydia Martin is immune to the turning bite of an alpha werewolf, and no one knows why. Danny Mahealani has spent the last eight months hacking databases looking for werewolves. He’s dangerous.”

Ethan is surprised. “How do you know that?”

“Mahealani’s good, but there are those among us who watch for this sort of thing. They caught him, hacked him back, and have a good idea how much he’s learned. This isn’t some shit task for an omega. This is important.”

Ethan looked down. “Now I do feel like shit for complaining.” 

Kali shrugs and smiles. “We don’t have pack bonds like other packs do. We have to be friends, like humans are friends, or this isn’t going to work.”

Ethan thanked her and then went to bed for real. He should have trusted Deucalion; it wasn’t as if the man had ever led them wrong. 

The next day he walked into Beacon High School as a senior, Aiden right next to him. He supposed it could have been seen as a little silly, strutting into high school like a pair of alpha males (pun intended), but Ethan didn’t mind. Their first high school experience had been short; their alpha had only allowed them to go to school because their mother had begged him to allow it. Their mother hadn’t really cared about the twins getting an education; it was a clever way she could get them away from the abuse the pack heaped on them.

Their mother wasn’t much better than the rest of the pack – ruthless murderers who took what they wanted because they had the power to do so. Even so, Ethan had been glad that she had been dead, killed by another pack, before Deucalion had insisted they destroy their old pack. Their mother had been bitten while pregnant with them, which had left their status in the pack indeterminate. They were technically ‘born wolves,’ but the alpha had made it clear that he could care less about them, and they weren’t considered pack. Omega wolves had it rough. 

Now, though, they were alphas, and that meant they got to enjoy who they were. Ethan put some effort into the strut. No shame in embracing your own power.

They were attractive enough to turn heads, and they did. This was fine for the plan, as they just couldn’t walk up to two supposed strangers and flirt with them without seeming suspicious. 

After the initial burst of excitement and pride, school was just as boring as Ethan had remembered it. They technically had already graduated as Deucalion was insistent on them getting their GEDs, but it was not the same. Ethan decided to pay attention to the lessons because they would make the day go faster. Except in math. Math could go screw itself.

It was on their way to third period that Aiden caught up to him and turned him bodily to look down the hallway towards the locker room. Students had clustered in front of the door to the men’s locker room, some of them in lacrosse jerseys, chatting and laughing. He’s about to ask his brother what the big deal was when someone calls out “Danny!” and one of the handsomest lacrosse players Ethan had ever seen answered.

Aiden whispered in his ear. “Oh no, he’s hot!”

Ethan pushed him away. “Shut it, Squidward.” But his twin was right; he was hot. This might not be too burdensome an assignment.

 

SHERIFF STILINSKI

The sheriff, now that he was in the know, had assumed that the skills and experience he possessed would be of minimal use in resolving the issues of the supernatural people in his jurisdiction. He had been very surprised when the truth turned out to be the opposite. They may have different abilities and limitations, but at the base, they had understandable motivations, clear needs, and real emotions. In other words, they were human as well. He had already chided himself for his arrogance.

Even someone like Deucalion had human motivations. Once he had dragged the full story out from Deaton and Derek, it was clear he was dealing with someone who had been mentally damaged in a profound way. Deucalion had been an alpha who sought peaceful resolution of the conflict between hunters and his kind. He had been ambushed, blinded – the Sheriff tried to imagine how a person who healed from almost everything would cope with an injury that wouldn’t heal – and then been the victim of an attempted murder by someone he trusted. If that wouldn’t cause a psychotic break, he didn’t know what would. 

The sheriff frowned, as he always did, when he thought about how tempting it might be to overthrow bad leadership through violence. He hadn’t been the greatest student in science, but even he understood the core benefits of evolution. Still, they weren’t animals, and he had been relieved when Derek had told him that most packs handled the transition of leadership without bloodshed.

Still, he only cared about the why if it gave him the how, but knowing why Deucalion was acting as he did had definitely given him an insight in what his actions might be. The alpha of alphas was trying to reassert control over his world though building a perfect pack. Part of him relaxed when he realized that he did not believe Deucalion and his pack would target innocent bystanders. 

Unfortunately, his son would not be considered an innocent bystander, and that was completely unacceptable. He had been angry with Derek and Deaton when he discovered that the Alpha Pack targeted Emissaries as well, but he couldn’t stay that way long. Neither of them thought the pack would come here, and Chris Argent had told him that harming Emissaries was extraordinarily rare. 

Luckily for all of them, he had an official reason to keep an eye on the Alpha pack, as Ennis was actually involved in an unsolved murder case in Beacon County from seven years ago. Thus, he had been able to use department resources to locate the house that the five members of the alpha pack were using as their home base. It was in a development that abutted the Preserve – understandably – in a quiet residential area. 

From what he has been able to put together, quietly was also how they were living; other than the obviously too-old-for-high-school twins attending Beacon Hills High as seniors, the pack had not done more than shop for groceries and go to coffee shops. If he hadn’t known they were a group of bloodthirsty alpha werewolves, he would have put them down as an unconventional family.

He set the files and reports on them to the side. There was still three weeks before the deadline. He wasn’t going to risk provoking them into acting before that time, and he had cautioned Derek on moving too quickly. He had his own plans for protecting his son if they could not come up with an effective plan before the full moon. Patience was always a virtue, and lives still had to be lived in the meanwhile.

People may not realize but as sheriff, he actually did less police work than his deputies. He had to work to keep himself out in the field beyond the occasional high-profile case. Right now, he was finishing the budget for the next quarter. Compared to the other things he knew were going on, it was dull. He loved dull.

The night was dull until one of his deputies, Ramirez knocked on the door. “Sorry, Sheriff, but we’ve got a dead body.” It was going to be the first of three that they would find in the next twenty-four hours. 

 

JACKSON WHITTEMORE

Jackson sat in the back row of English class, directly behind Lydia, at a desk that everyone must have thought was empty. She was the only one who could see him without him making the effort, and he did not want her to think he needed her to pay attention to him. He supposed that it was possible that Stiles, sitting to her right, could sense him, because he’s now some sort of druid or what-the-fuck-ever. He had overheard Lydia talking with that veterinarian that it would take concentration for them to sense him so he will probably never have to worry about spaz-bunny Stiles seeing him when he did not want him to.

Ms. Blake was talking today about Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio and about how its narrative structure served to reinforce the themes of alienation and loneliness. It sounded like something he might want to read, since he had a lot of free time. But he couldn’t, because he couldn’t turn the damn pages.

From his vantage point, Jackson watched Stilinski taking notes in the class. Even though Ms. Blake looked more like a model than an English teacher, she taught literature very well, to the point that even the smarter kids in class took notes. She was also very passionate about the literature she chose. 

He supposed that if he had been alive, he would probably have found Stilinski more tolerable than he did before. But then, of course, he would not have known what he knew now, as he had to admit that now he was a bit of a stalker. He guessed that was something ghosts did. Lydia had asked him to keep an eye on Derek’s pack, which now included Stilinski.

Stilinski had changed since Jackson’s death. He was still intelligent – though not as intelligent as Lydia – hyperactive, and unmindful of social cues, but he was also far more focused and –though Jackson would never have admitted – cunning. The ghost suspected that it wasn’t just a change in his medication. Stiles had a purpose now. The boy could have always reined in his mind, but he hadn’t had a reason to. Now as a werewolf pack’s emissary, he had things that were important. Jackson would have laughed a year ago if you had told him this, but he wasn’t laughing now.

Stiles was also lonely. It would not be obvious to most people, because he worked so very hard to keep it hidden, but Jackson could see him when he thought no one was looking. Stiles worked hard with Derek and the betas and learning from Morrell and Deaton, but he had been so intent on being useful and doing it right that he had failed to realize the price of doing so. Morrell and Deaton were advisors, mentors, and – at least when it came to Deaton – were always there to lend a helping hand. But they weren’t friends; they practiced an objectivity that helped them be better advisors. This same objectivity kept a wall between the Emissary and the pack, one that Lydia argued to him had to exist. 

Jackson wondered what Morrell and Deaton did on their days off. Did they have hobbies? Significant others? Poker buddies? The brother and sister never mentioned them, and he was sure it was on purpose. If he had time later, he might investigate. But he knew that Stiles didn’t have anything like that—not any more. His best (and only) friend was a growling animal in Eichen House. Jackson had stood in the Stilinski bedroom while Stiles had stared despondently at his phone, his finger hovering over names as if he wanted to call them: Derek, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, even Lydia. But he never did.

Jackson had rolled his eyes. It was stupid for the idiot not to make the effort, but he did not appear and tell Stiles to just call. It wasn’t his business.

Jackson’s business was now in English class where that new scrunched-faced troglodyte was flirting with Lydia. Lydia was being Lydia about it; couldn’t that dumbass see he had no chance with her? At least, he was pretty sure that this Aiden butthole had no chance with her. His flirts were clumsy and sophomoric, even if he was a senior.

Though as he watched the pair, he felt unsettled. Recently, it felt like he was talking to two different Lydias. He was not sure though. One was confident and curious, determined to find out what was going on in the world and to master it. The other was confident, but she acted like she already knew what was going on and had a plan. He would have told her about these varied perceptions, but he was afraid that it wasn’t her who was changing, it was him. Maybe he was losing it; maybe this was the beginning of him fading into some J-pop horror boogeyman. 

He watched, glowering, as Lydia began flirting back with the dumbass. Lydia liked to flirt; it did not mean she loved him or that she even thought she would go out with him. She flirted to have fun. He understood this, and when he was alive, the jealousy that it aroused in him was like drinking scotch – it burned going down but it warmed his belly. Now, the jealousy he felt was a cold, twisting thing. He would not tell her that though; he would not be needy. 

To distract himself, he focused on Allison. She was back and sitting on the other side of Lydia. He had learned after the fact that her entire family had been werewolf hunters and she was now one as well. She did not look the part. In fact, other than the faint scars on her face, she looked like just another beautiful high school girl. She smiled at Lydia’s flirting but was spending most of her time paying attention to Ms. Blake’s lecture.

He wondered what happened during the year she was gone. He wondered what it felt like to have everything revealed to her in that way and then to find out afterward that if she had just been a little older, she could have done something about it? 

Finally, the class ended and everyone got up to go. The Neanderthal asked Lydia if she wanted to go to the lunchroom and she was about to say yes, but she looked back. Jackson was pretty sure that the only reason he hadn’t gone full-out “Poltergeist”-style crazy was that she kept doing that – making sure she wasn’t hurting him. He immediately put on his best ‘Go for it’ smile so she would go, even though he really, really wanted to punch this half of the Dumb and Dumber twin show right in the face. But he was not going to be a clingy burden. He. Was. Not. 

“It must be difficult for you,” announced Ms. Blake, when they were the only ones in the room.

Jackson said the stupid thing that he thought all ghosts were required to say once in their existences. “You can see me?” Because, of course she could see him, which was why she spoke up.

“Many years ago I had an experience which left me hovering on the Threshold.” She said it so he could hear the capital letter. “Those types of experiences allow you to see those on the other side if they are still tightly bound to this side. You died here?”

“Up in the chemistry lab. Man, I hated chemistry.” 

Ms. Blake smiled at him. Jackson thought she was very attractive, for a teacher, but when she smiled it was different. It was an invitation to something better than what he was feeling right now. “You can tell me about it, if you want,” she offered.

Jackson did tell her about it. He felt the words pour out. Not just how it happened, but also his fears about what he was becoming. He really had no idea why he was suddenly laying this out for a complete stranger, but she sounded so sympathetic. 

Ms. Blake nodded. “It is almost time for my next class, but if you stick around, we can talk after school while I am grading.” 

Jackson nodded. He felt comfortable around Ms. Blake, though he didn’t know why. The only people who could see him without him exerting himself usually were Lydia and Scott. He had sworn to himself he wouldn’t try to monopolize Lydia’s time, and Scott wasn’t much of a listener since Jackson didn’t think he could understand the words. 

Jackson must have zoned out, drifting into that state of non-being that he could enter when everyone was asleep or gone. Strangely enough, he would always wake back up either with Lydia or with Scott in Eichen House. This time he didn’t. 

“Hello, Jackson.” 

Ms. Blake was actually sitting at her desk, grading, just as she said she would. “Uh, hi.” He guessed it didn’t matter about where he woke up. “You seem awfully calm about this.”

“I’ve had practice. If I met you ten years ago, I’d have been a little more anxious.” She smiled. “So, you haven’t been a ghost for very long, I discovered. That’s good.”

“It is?” Jackson leaned forward. “Why?” 

Ms. Blake offered him a sympathetic look. She got up from the desk and came to sit next to him on another student’s desk. “I am sure you’ve felt things getting worse, haven’t you?” She saw his look and she went on. “It always happens. People aren’t supposed to be ghosts. Our souls are not made for it. One of two things will happen – you’ll move on or you’ll be consumed by resentment and regret.”

Jackson was suddenly angry. “That’s all?” 

“You think I am being harsh,” Ms. Blake soothed. “I’m being honest. Jackson, you know you have to let go. You have to move on.” 

“I can’t. Lydia needs me.“ He said reflexively. Maybe Lydia didn’t need him. Maybe he was being selfish and hanging around because he didn’t want to leave. 

Ms. Blake’s sympathetic look remained. He wanted to be angry with her, but he just couldn’t. In fact, he wanted to make her happy, for some odd reason. 

“Look,” he said crossly, “It isn’t like I can do anything about it.”

Ms. Blake smiled at him, and it was still kind and well, pretty dazzling, only this time, he noticed a sharper edge to it. “No, you can’t, Jackson. But I can.”

 

VICTORIA ARGENT

Creating a winning strategy was always difficult. The greatest moment of danger in the process was at the beginning. You knew what you wanted and you could visualize your end goal, so you followed the shortest path. When you did that, ninety-nine out of a hundred plans would be disasters. You had to take into account everything – your enemies, your allies, your restrictions. You had to see the whole board. It was exhausting.

She suspected that was why most hunters eventually abandoned the Code. ‘See the monster; kill the monster’ was simple. It made their noble cause require much less hard work. She did not like werewolves any more than any other hunter, but she knew it should never be simple or easy. For every unrepentant bestial horror, there were those who had families and lives. She was never going to see them as anything more than threats and dangers, but she had enough empathy to believe that recklessly stomping on their friends and loved ones to get them was not the solution.

Luckily, she did not have much of a problem planning the destruction of the alpha pack. They had committed crimes against both their own kind and humanity; they had violated the Code repeatedly. She was sure that the only reason they weren’t dead is because the so-called Demon Wolf inspired such terror in both hunters and other werewolves. She had also heard the stories that her father-in-law was the man who had blinded Deucalion. 

She wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that the story was true. God, how she hated that man. He undermined her every chance he got. He tried to take their daughter away. She had no idea how Chris had escaped that madness. She wished he would rot in jail until the cancer took him!

She scolded herself for indulging in her emotions at such a difficult time. She had work to do. The problem right now was that there are five alphas in the pack and while that would be difficult enough, they were extraordinarily powerful alphas. A direct confrontation with the full alpha pack was a recipe for disaster. 

The key, she reasoned, was Deucalion. The only way an alpha pack worked is if the ‘alpha of alphas’ – she rolled her eyes – could not be successfully challenged. The Demon Wolf was known for his incredible power, even while blind – he was probably the fastest and strongest werewolf she would ever – possibly, hopefully – meet. His other senses were legendary and his intelligence unquestionable. 

But he was still the key. If he could be eliminated the other alphas would squabble for control of the pack – none of them were capable of replacing the Demon Wolf, according to her analysis of the intelligence they had gathered.

She drove by the alpha’s home, just once, after the sheriff had provided their location. The trouble was always the experience and sensory advantage of Deucalion. He would be prepared for a pre-emptive strike. He would be expecting it. He would take precautions, and he would make sure his retaliation was complete. They would only get one shot of this. 

She thought about what Chris had told her about Deucalion’s surprise visit to Derek. It was obviously designed to knock the local alpha off his game. If Derek was so worried about his sister that he didn’t have a proper defense in place by the full moon, it might make Hale desperate enough to consider the alpha pack’s offer. Still, though, Deucalion was supremely confident – even over-confident. Perhaps that could be turned against him. 

Deucalion would be hard to ambush, ego or no ego. He emphasized his lack of sight to lure inexperienced people into ambushing him, relying on the other senses – senses harder to compensate for – in order to turn their ambushes back against them. 

Then she needed to give him nothing to sense until it is too late. She would need help for this; if an Argent was present, he would automatically be on alert – so there would have to be no Argent present. He would have studied all of the participants in the city; he would keep studying them until he understood what lengths they would go to. 

So to defeat him, she would have to rely on others who were not Argents. She didn't like it, but that is where she had an idea.

“Someone has to be pushed to go farther than they thought possible.” She saw the beginnings of a plan lay out before her. It could work. It had to work. If it did not work a lot of people – human and not – would probably die. But if she did nothing, they were going to die anyway. 

If the plan did work, she would be in a difficult position. She was sure that Chris and Allison would be furious with her; she suspected that if Derek was still around, he would be furious with her, but if she felt she could do her duty without getting alpha werewolves mad at her, she was in the wrong business. She also knew that the Sheriff would be furious with her; she could face jail time.

Still, if it worked, then justice would have been done and innocent people wouldn’t have to die for the Demon Wolf’s twisted dream. But it depended on absolute secrecy and her gaining the trust of someone who had no reason to trust her.

She drove past the Sheriff’s Station to make sure that the elder Stilinski was at work. She then stopped by a stationary shop and picked up some paper and an envelope. She would make it look like normal mail. Quickly, she stopped by the Stilinski house and dropped in the mail slot, careful that no one saw her. Now, all she had to do was wait and see if the Emissary would take her invitation.

She went home, had dinner ready for Allison and Chris, but told them she had things to do that night. At 9:30, she drove past the Stilinski house. Thankfully, the young man was waiting at the end of driveway like she has asked. She pulled up and opened the door. 

“Get in.” It was absolutely a command.

“You aren’t a nice lady,” Stiles complained. “I didn’t think you would be.”

“We need to move quickly. If anyone sees us together, my plan will not work, and I think it is the best way to save your pack. So, cooperate, or we can call it off.”

Stiles grimaced. “You understand that I am naturally verbal and respond to most situations with sarcasm and pathetic attempts at humor. I’m here, because your note was interesting. Creepy, but interesting.”

She kept driving. She was going to drive straight out of town. “I’ve got a cellular jammer on in the car; you won’t be able to send or receive messages while you are with me. As I said, I have a plan. It is dangerous, but I won’t be able to pull it off without your assistance.”

“Considering that no one else has a plan and Derek might be forced to kill me, I’m all ears.” Stiles kept looking at her like she was going to stab him. She wasn’t, of course. Not yet, anyway.

“Deucalion has to be dealt with, but the problem is that he didn’t become what he was by being sloppy. He’s going to expect certain things from certain people, and he’s going to be right. When he isn’t right, he’s going to employ his native intelligence and his sensory skills to compensate. Any plan has to negate both of these advantages.”

She was in full lecture mode. Strangely, she thought he would start demanding questions but all he did was gnaw on a finger.

“You’ve chosen to bond with Derek and his betas even though you had every reason to avoid them. The last thing Deucalion would expect you to do would be to hurt them, even to gain an advantage over him. But that is exactly what you are going to do.”

“Uhhhhh, okay. What’s the point of that?”

“People can recover from incapacitating injuries, given time. However, that time gives us a window to end the threat of the Demon Wolf, once and for all. I am very knowledgeable about wolfsbane; it is one of my specialties. There are several that can be delivered through inhalation, and there is one that, while painful and damaging, is not fatal if treatment is delivered. It is, however, incapacitating.”

“You want me to gas Deucalion. That means I have to get close to him, which wasn’t on my top-ten list of things to do.”

“No. I am going to trigger the gas, but you are going to carry it, in the one place the strong don’t think to look.” She gazed directly at his prosthetic leg. “I will be observing and triggering it remotely.”

Stiles looked at her mutinously for a moment. “So, he won’t be able to detect me triggering it and move away.” 

“His senses are very sharp, except for his eyes. Smell and hearing have range, which we can use to our advantage.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a very scary lady?” Stiles admitted.

“I am the Argent matriarch. You might have become confused because of how often Gerard tried to usurp my authority, but it is true.” She said coldly. “You have to know a thing or two.”

“You don’t want me to tell anyone else, do you?” Stiles suddenly asked. “You are afraid he’ll figure out what is going on.”

“Right. This will only work if there is no possible way he can see this coming. The only reason I am asking you is I doubt I could gain access to your prosthesis without you knowing about it.”

Stiles sat silently as she drove a great loop through Beacon Hills. 

Eventually, he spoke. “There are going to be people who will be pretty pissed if we do this.” 

Victoria was sharp. “They’ll get over it, if they’re alive.” She understood, but it couldn’t be brought into calculation. If the goal was to stop the Alpha Pack, they had to work with what they were given. 

“Okay, what do you need me to do?” He turned, having made his decision. 

“When is your next meeting with your doctor?” It was before the full moon. “Make up an excuse to visit Chris as soon as possible. Bring all the data on your leg. Give me your doctor’s and your engineer’s names. I’ll rush the modifications, and have the switch made then.”

“If you can do all this by yourself, why even ask me?”

“You are a curious boy and the leg will feel different, and because I do have some small amount of conscience. There is every possibility that another member of your pack might be caught in our trap. I am going to drop you off at your house. We need to be quick and quiet.”

“No one can know?” Stiles asked just to be sure.

“No one. Their lives depend on it.” 

 

VERNON BOYD

Boyd sat at the back of the funeral, listening to the eulogy for Kyle. This had been the first funeral he attended outside of his family, and he was not sure why he was here. He had not known Kyle well; they had been in Junior ROTC together, but they had not been close. 

As he thought about it, he did know why he was here. Now that he had a pack – a real family with real bonds – he felt more comfortable opening up to others now. He felt stable. 

He should probably get used to going to funerals again. It was barely ten days before the next full moon and while they had been training, he could see the desperation in Derek’s eyes when he thought his betas weren’t looking. At first, he thought it had been stupid for Deucalion to tell Derek exactly how he planned to act, but now he realized it wasn’t just boasting or even politeness – it was a psychological ploy. As much as Derek tried to act like the alpha they needed, everyone could see the cracks appearing at the edges when he thought they weren’t paying attention. 

Of course, Derek wasn’t sharing this with anyone. Boyd understood why his alpha thought he had to do this, but it probably wasn’t healthy. Derek would be brutal in training one moment and then indulgent the next. Derek felt he had doomed them when he offered them the bite; he did not think they could win. He was also twisted up by the idea that his younger sister was a prisoner of the alpha pack.

Still, the bite had been a gift, at least for the three of them. Isaac wasn’t paralyzed by fear; Erica didn’t wait for her body to betray her; he had stopped lurking on the sidelines watching people pass him by. It wasn’t the bite that was endangering them, it was people. If he hadn’t been bitten, he could be just as dead as he might be in a few weeks. Just like Kyle.

The fact that there was now an occult-themed serial killer on the loose did not seem that disturbing. The four people who had died were all normal, innocent people. Boyd felt bad that he did not feel more scared of the killer, but there had to be some perks to being a werewolf. 

The occult murders were actually the hardest on Stiles. He had noticed the pattern and told his father, but once he had done that, he ignored them. Stiles would sometimes forget that the others had superior hearing, stomping around the house muttering “I can’t save everyone; I can’t save everyone.” 

“No one can,” Boyd said aloud as the funeral concluded. 

He gave his condolences to Kyle’s family and then headed back to the car. He paused when he saw Kali, one of the alphas, leaning against it. She still wasn’t wearing shoes; what was up with that?

“What do you want?”

“Since I am not clawing out your throat, I want to talk,” she replied. “Your name is Vernon, but I’ve only ever heard you called Boyd. What do you prefer to be called?”

“My friends called me Boyd; I don’t care what you call me.” He took his car keys out of his pocket, but she did not look like she was going to move. He did not want to start a fight at Kyle’s funeral, and it did not look like she was going to either. 

“Well, Boyd, I came here to offer you a way out of this whole mess.” 

Boyd crossed his arms and did not answer. He felt no need to get chatty with this person. 

She smiled at him, but it was not a pleasant smile. “I am not looking forward to killing any of you. Do you know why?” He shook his head. “Because it will be so, so boring. I’ve studied combat for decades – the only person in your group that could give me even a moment’s contest would be Derek. You do know that he has had only rudimentary training, don’t you? The Hales were peaceful; their power resided in their wisdom, not their ferocity.”

Boyd had not known that, but it did make a certain sense. When Derek talked about his mother, Talia, he always mentioned how wise she was and how respected she was. He could tell that Derek wanted to be nothing so much as her son, but his alpha believed, deep down in his heart that he would never be.

“You’ve got a point?” Boyd demanded. 

“Yes. You can end this, Boyd. All you have to do is kill Derek. Deucalion is here because he wants an alpha that has the Hale family ability to transform into a full wolf and the wisdom that represents. You kill Derek, you become the alpha, and that trait is lost.”

Boyd frowned. “Bitch, please.”

“You don’t think that Derek wouldn’t have killed himself already if he didn’t feel it would be abandoning his sister to us? The man is a walking advertisement for martyrdom. He is not going to give into us now. But what about after we kill one of you and he was helpless to stop it? I give the odds that he’ll still resist us. How about two? How long before despair takes him?”

Kali was not being threatening; she was simply talking like she was discussing her plans for next spring’s garden.

“And what if we make the death spectacularly painful? How long before he decides that killing you quickly is better than waiting for you to die an agonizing death. That’s the problem with martyrs – they’re always willing to go that extra mile. What’s more guilt?”

Boyd continued to frown, but she definitely had a point there. He could see Derek destroying them to spare them pain. 

“You think I can take him?” 

“I think that if he realizes what you are doing, he’ll let you,” Kali states with conviction. “I think that you are stronger than you look. I think you can make a decision.”

“And I should do this because you are bored?”

“You should do this because you want to live; sparing me five months of tedium is just a side benefit.” 

Boyd just stared at her. “I’ll think about it.” 

Kali pushed herself off the car and walked away, while Boyd got into the car and drove off. He growled to himself as he did so. He would think about it, and that could be a problem. Even if she had been completely sincere – and he had no reason to doubt her in that - her reasoning was not faulty. Deucalion had said as much when he stated his interest was the Hale bloodline. 

The question was – could he bring himself to do it? He had little doubt he could kill in the heat of battle. He would feel guilty and upset, but he knew he could do it. But this – this was murder. It would be betrayal. But even Derek could not help but reveal that he felt their situation was hopeless. 

And, if it had just been him, he would not do it. He was sure of that much. No matter what other reasons Derek had had for offering him the bite, he had delivered on what he had promised – a place to belong. But it was not just him. He could save Erica, Isaac, Scott, and even Stiles by doing this. He could end this nightmare. All he would have to do would be to become a murderous traitor. 

Derek had lent him his car. He needed to talk to someone, but he knew it could not be a member of the pack. It certainly couldn’t be his parents. It certainly couldn’t be the sheriff. Considering that the veterinarian was a friend of Derek’s mother, it certainly couldn’t be him. That left, of the people in the know, the Argents. 

Boyd wasn’t sure he liked that idea. So there was no one to talk to. He drove back to the Hale House. 

 

ALLISON ARGENT

Allison dressed slowly, choosing a somber outfit. This was not a celebration; this was mourning. Once a month, rain or shine, she went to her aunt’s grave in the cemetery. 

At first, she wasn’t sure why she was doing it. Her aunt was a psychotic murderer who burned children alive. Why would she go and mourn her? But over the last year, she came to a realization: that wasn’t the only thing her aunt was. Kate had been more like a big sister to her. They had gone shopping, talked about boys, watched television together, and done each other’s hair. That was who she was mourning.

Allison had also realized that rejecting all of her aunt for just part of her life was exactly what her aunt had done. If she reduced the whole complexity of Kate Argent to just “psycho,” she would be just as bad. If you reduced werewolves to animals, of course you could kill them without remorse or reflection.

So, she made herself get up. She made herself eat breakfast and talk to her parents. She made herself buy flowers and take them out to her grave. 

“Hello, Kate.” She addressed the grave. People had told her that this was a good way of working through feelings. “This might be the funniest thing you’ll ever hear me say, but I wish you were here. Or I wish you could give me your confidence.”

The sun had barely crept over the horizon; it was more dark than not. She always came out very, very early. There was a slight chance that one of the wolves could see her, but if they did there was a great chance that they would misinterpret what was going on. 

“We have a pack of alphas in town that are going to kill people – people you wouldn’t mind killing, but that’s not the point. Sometimes I think about it and I get a little frightened. You would never be frightened. You weren’t frightened until right before you died. How did you do it?”

Allison sighed. “I just hope that I can do more than warn people this time.” She put the flowers down before the grave. She stood up and started walking away, but as she did so, she did a quick scan of the surrounding area. There was a disturbance at one of the newer graves. 

She worked her way over there, putting her hand on the dagger in its sheath under her jacket. There was no movement, but the ground was torn up above a grave. A grave that she had never visited, but one she recognized. She grabbed her phone – “Dad, I need you out here at the cemetery. Someone’s dug up Jackson Whittemore’s grave.” 

Her father got out there as quickly as possible. She had taken pictures of the grave without touching anything, sending them to her mother. She stayed as far away as she could, but at this distance she could not find any tracks around the grave. Chris was far better at tracking than she was.

Chris frowned immediately upon seeing it. “We need to get this covered up. Wasn’t one of Derek’s betas a gravedigger?”

Allison looked at him in concern. “Yeah, Isaac. Should I call them? What’s the matter?”

“The grave was opened from the inside.” Her father observed. “If anyone was present when it happened, I can’t find tracks. The tracks from within the grave lead to the road.”

Allison looked at her father in disbelief but placed the call anyway. “Any idea what to tell them?”

“Necromancy isn’t my forte. But what I do know is this – if this was spontaneous, we are in big trouble. I have never heard of spontaneous reanimation this long after death without cataclysmic amounts of uncontrolled magic. If it wasn’t, however, that means the person behind it took no pains to hide it.” 

“Which means they are not afraid of being discovered,” Allison stated. “Or they want us to know.”

Chris nods. “I’ll call your mother.” 

“I am not going to call Lydia until this gets cleaned up,” Allison says. “I’ll go talk to her later this morning.”

They made calls and then took up positions where they could intercept anyone who might discover the grave before it could be filled back in. Derek’s whole pack arrived a half-hour later. Isaac looked at ground and blanched. “Zombies, man? I can’t tell you how many times I scared the shit out of myself when working the night shift.”

“This isn’t Caribbean style necromancy, Isaac. Zombies wouldn’t be strong enough to get out of a grave this fresh.” Chris told him with surety.

Everyone looked at the male Argent because he talked about zombies as real, but he was so busy looking for other clues that he didn’t notice it. Derek encouraged Isaac to organize the cover up. It gave the beta a little thrill of importance – that he knew how to do this.

“Okay,” said Stiles, “it looks like I have more reading to do, because nothing that Deaton or Morrell have taught me mention anything about the walking dead.” 

Derek shook his head. “You’ll have to see if Peter had any books on that. Deaton and Morrell would not have anything, and even if they had texts, they might not give them to you.”

Allison was very curious and not willing to ruin her clothes with the digging. “Why wouldn’t they do that? I think we might have something, Stiles.” 

Derek went on. “From what I have been able to learn, Emissaries consider necromancy blasphemous. Don’t touch it; don’t teach it; destroy it where you find it. Remember, the balance of nature is their stated goal.” 

“Nothing more unbalancing than breaking death,” murmured Stiles. “Makes sense, makes sense.” He suddenly frowned and bit at his thumb. “This couldn’t have been Lydia, could it?”

Chris Argent came back over, having been satisfied with the filling in of the grave. “No. This level takes years of study and practice. I wouldn’t underestimate Miss Martin’s intelligence, but she just hasn’t had the time to reach this level of power. But we should find out if she knows anything.”

Allison convinced others to go looking for Jackson’s corpse while she and Stiles went over to Lydia’s. She was worried for her friend, and while she could track, she knew her father and four werewolves were probably far better at it than her. 

Allison stopped a block from Lydia’s house. “See that, Stiles?” She pointed at the motorcycle in the driveway. 

“Lydia has company,” Stiles sighs. “I recognize the bike from school.” 

“It’s Aiden, one of the twins.” She observed. “Standard procedure is to identify vehicles and license plates.” 

Stiles rubbed his chin. “It never occurred to me that big bad alphas would have stuff like license plates. Even Derek has a license plate. What are their last names?”

Allison made a face. “Smith. All of them.”

Stiles burst out laughing because absurdity is his thing. He loved it. “Smith. I – I can’t – breathe.”

Allison gives him a glare until he stops laughing. “I am glad you think that this is funny that Lydia is …”

“Bangin’ an alpha!” Stiles giggled once again. “It makes sense.” At Allison’s questioning glance, he continues. “Yeah, you might have not known Jackson for long before he died. He was an asshole – though much less of an asshole now that he was dead, which is disturbing on several different levels – and I stretched and stretched my brain on why she would be with him.” He laughed once again, but with a tinge of sadness. “She has this type – arrogant, attracted to power, dangerous. She only loves people she would have to tame, which is probably why she never wanted me. An evil alpha? Absolutely on her radar.”

Allison thought about it for a moment. “I can’t argue. Do we wait?” 

“I want …” Stiles starts. “I want to go in there with you and needle him with my amazing wit until he gets all red-eyed and cranky, so you can justifiably shoot him with your crossbow and turn him into a coat. I want to go in there and give three hundred reasons why he being in the same county as the formidable Lydia Martin is a crime against the universe. I want to beat him to death with my mountain ash cane!” He grabs it. “But I am deciding to be responsible. Emissaries don’t pick fights. “

“So we wait. He can’t stay there all night.”

“Unless they’re doin’ the do,” groused Stiles. “In which case, you will have one grumpy stumpy. Yes.”

Minutes passed. Silence was never comfortable and Allison was sure that it was going to wear on Stiles the most, but he had really thrown himself into his new responsible role, and he was obviously doing a fidget dance over there.

“What do you know about Jackson?” She asked.

“I know that ghosts are a lot rarer than the movies and television shows make them out to be. I know that you cannot actually come back from where we go after we die, but there is a between place, where a ghost can be stuck or where they can be held. Alan has no idea why Lydia suddenly got the talent to bind Jackson to her – considering what both of them have said, that is what she did – and then never do anything like it again.” 

“Could he have done this to his own body?” She asked, thinking about it. 

“Maybe? I’ve not read anything about it. You know how he could use Scott, right?” That was uncomfortable for all of them. “But Scott could move already, and he was just controlling him.” 

Allison took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It just seems to me that there is something bigger going on here. The alpha pack is dangerous, but they’ve been pretty open about their intentions. I don’t think they have anything to do with the serial killings or this.”

“No. There is something else going on, but there’s only so much we can do, isn’t there?” Stiles shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “Maybe Jackson just figured out something he could do as a ghost.” He did not sound like he even believed it.

Time passed in silence. “Maybe we should give her a call?” 

“Let’s give her another half hour,” said Stiles. “So, you glad to be back at school?” It was something innocent to talk about.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I actually enjoy doing things other teenagers do. I rarely feel guilty about it.”

“Guilty?” Stiles asked. “Oh, the old ‘people could be dying while I’m in Trig’ feeling. You gotta let it go. So do I.”

“Easier said than done. I’m glad, though,” she admitted. “That I know you.”

“Me?” Stiles asked. “That’s new.”

Allison gave him a weird look. “Why would you say that? You’re funny, you’re nice, you know about things so I don’t have to lie to you.”

“You think I’m funny?” Stiles said with mock innocence. “That makes two people.” He frowned at something. They lapsed into silence once again.

From their vantage point, they see when Aiden and Lydia come out of the house. Their farewell was both flirty with a bit of the Lydia’s standard power dynamic, and a chaste kiss. 

“Oh, yeah,” said Stiles bitterly, “they’re banging.”

Allison looks over at him. “Jealous?” 

“Uhhhhh, yeah. It is pretty disheartening to think that the girl you’ve crushed on for years is screwing the guy who might be killing you.” He grins. “I thought I could be honest with you. I thought you wanted normal things. Boys jealous of other boys being with unattainable girls is about as normal as it gets.”

“You are right, just put a leash on it. We’ve got work to do.” Allison was smiling when she said it, because from what she’d seen over the last few weeks, Stiles will put the work first.

Lydia came to the door all smiles. She looked radiant. “Good evening. You should call first before you come over, just in case I was busy.”

Stiles, for once, didn’t say anything sarcastic. Allison decided to let the matter go for the time being. “What we have to talk about isn’t something you talk about over the phone. Have you seen Jackson, recently?”

“No,” Lydia replied nonchalantly. “He is really good at not being around all the time.” She did not mean it as an insult; Allison could tell that she meant it as a compliment. But when Lydia sees the look in their eyes, her mood suddenly darkened. “Did something happen to him?”

They told her the story as directly and without embellishment what they had found out. To her credit, Lydia did not freak out. She immediately began thinking it. “To tell the truth, he’s been kind of distant the last few days. If he did not come here, he would go home. Or he’d go to Eichen, though that seems a stretch.”

They hadn’t thought of his parent’s house. “Will you come with us?” Allison asked.

“Aiden might be coming over,” Lydia responded. “Let me give him a ring.”

Allison and Stiles looked at each other as Lydia went to get her phone. Allison whispered to him. “Do you think she’s lying?” 

“She could be embarrassed by it,” Stiles admitted. “She doesn’t seem disoriented. Let’s just play it by ear.”

Allison frowned but nodded. It was probably wisest.

 

ALAN DEATON:

Alan has always enjoyed being a veterinarian. When he was training, his mentor had suggested that he choose an occupation that complimented his natural proclivities while also being something he enjoyed. Healing the sick always appealed to him, but he felt that being a doctor would interfere with his other duties. Surprisingly enough, he had not only a talent for it but also a liking for it. No matter how frantic the other parts of his life, he always made time to take care of animals and their owners. Little things made the world better, too.

He also loved the jokes. They were funny.

The bell rings out in the lobby, though he doesn’t have any more clients this afternoon. “Be right with you!” Even with the serious things happening here, it would take something truly powerful for him to be in any danger. This is his place of power – the act of healing, the act of helping has bonded it to his soul. Few could challenge him here.

When he gets out to the front, he can see one of the few that might be able to challenge him. Deucalion is standing there with Kali and Ennis as backup. Alan is skilled enough to give no indication of the short trill of fear that runs up his back. These three could offer him some problems.

“May I help you?” His voice is neutral.

“I think you can, Alan,” Deucalion speaks smoothly. The alpha usually uses his other senses to point his head in the direction of the person he is talking to, in order to, quite frankly, freak them out. Deucalion is blind, but he knows the value of making people wonder if he is faking it. “I have come to talk to you about what you know of the ritual murders. You’ve recognized the pattern.”

“I have. And I am sure my sister has informed you of the steps we are taking to find and stop the one doing the killings.”

“Are you?” Deucalion asks with false guilelessness. “It has occurred to me that allowing the darach to continue his or her actions might resolve your issue with my pack. Winning by benign neglect.”

“I have no issue with your pack other than your very existence upsetting the Balance. Your ultimatum to the Hale Pack is between you and them. While I have advised them, I am not their emissary,” he said. That was all true; though he was quite sure he would be willing to step in if Derek asked him to. Derek knew that, and he refused to endanger anyone else. “As for the supposed darach, I am working closely with the local law enforcement and Chris Argent to prevent more murders.”

Deucalion hums as Kali and Ennis look at each other. “I am becoming concerned. The timing is suspicious to me. Our pack appears and challenges Derek’s and suddenly a dark druid shows up, gathering power?” He is being dramatic. “Which no one knows anything about?”

“Are you accusing someone?” Alan says calmly. “There are a limited number of people with the knowledge and power to do this.”

“Accusations would require evidence, of which I have none. It did occur to me that the only people in the city with the knowledge to utilize sacrifices effectively are Chris Argent, Marin Morrell, and you, Alan.”

“Ahhhh. You suspect me, which is why you brought back up. I won’t waste your time by assuring you I am not the darach.” He turns to the other counter to finish putting his paperwork away. “What information do you want, Deucalion?”

Deucalion observed the room with disdain. “There have been nine murders.” 

“Yes. Virgins, Warriors, Healers. That leaves only Philosophers and Guardians.” Deaton saw no reason to not confirm the werewolf’s instincts. “Already, they must have accumulated a significant amount of power.” 

“Theoretically, of course.” Deucalion said dryly. 

Alan always practiced equanimity and forbearance. He found them invaluable in reaching others. Right now, however, he was growing tired of Deucalion’s fishing expedition. “I would be willing you to offer you my hospitality, Deucalion, for a private conversation between you and me.” Deucalion would know that if he formally offered him hospitality, he would be loathe to violate it.

Deucalion gestured Kali and Ennis to go outside, while Alan opened the gate, leading him back into the back. The other two alphas would not be able to hear them.

“We have known each other for a long time,” started the veterinarian. “How did it come to this? How did the man I know come to the point where he is the motive force behind murdering teenagers?”

“Are you going to psychoanalyze me?” Deucalion drawls contemptuously. “Are you going to explain that I am reacting to physical trauma?”

“I would not do that, because though I think I could understand your madness, discussing it would be neither useful nor relevant at this time. I am looking for a common ground by which a solution can be reached. Your alpha pack, what your alpha pack has done, what your alpha pack forces others to do is terrible. What purpose do you possibly think it could serve?”

Deucalion frowns. “What possible benefit would this discussion net me?” 

“I will share with you a copy of all the information we have been able to gather on the darach. If you are persuasive enough, you may even have my neutrality.”

“You aren’t neutral now?” Deucalion asks quietly.

“I am not an Emissary, nor bound by their laws. I am bound by an oath I took to Talia Hale, a woman you once respected.“ Alan said this openly, essentially announcing his allegiance. “Even if I hadn’t taken that oath, I’d still oppose the senseless murder of children.”

“This murder of children is not senseless. The first part of my plan is to assemble my ideal pack. Power. Intelligence. Leadership. This is the stage I am on now. Once that is completed, we will transform my races’ society into one that is strong enough to counter the hunters. I tried to end the endless and foolish war between wolf and hunter through diplomacy. This time, I will use force. My weapon is my pack, as it always has been.”

Alan frowned. “And it doesn’t matter how many people have to die to transform your species’ culture.”

“Very few revolutions have been successful without a body count. Even fewer of those have had lasting change.” Deucalion shrugged eloquently. “We’re not human; savagery is part of our nature, and it will be part of our salvation.”

“I am suspicious that the darach is here for you. I think that they have been established here for a long time, waiting for you to appear. How he or she knew your alpha pack would come here is beyond me. Perhaps a simple divination revealed it, but I cannot tell.”

“Go on.” Deucalion listened intently.

“Are you sure that you have slain all the emissaries from your former packs?” He looks at Deucalion. “My sister is not your emissary, but I am sure that she just moved to the top of your list of possible suspects.” 

“Marin is not in any greater danger yet.” The blind alpha says quietly. “Any more than you are.“

“The darach’s ritual is connected to the telluric currents and the nemeton hidden within the Preserve. A nemeton, by the way, which neither I, my sister, nor Derek know of its location. The darach obviously does. If she completes this sacrifice, he or she will be amazingly powerful.”

“How powerful?” 

The veterinarian remarked without comment. “I would not put odds in your favor. So this is what I propose – call off your intended purge of Derek’s pack. This will allow us to pool our efforts together to find and neutralize the darach.”

“An interesting proposition – four days before the first deadline, Alan.” He shakes his head. “Strategy indicates that the best play is to attempt to find my enemy myself, while still pursuing my goal. If he or she completes the fourth series of sacrifices, then we can talk alliances. I shouldn’t give up the game so quickly.”

Alan frowned at this. It was ruthlessly efficient. “I certainly hope that you don’t have cause to regret this course of action.”

“I will never regret my course of action. Words never change the world; power changes it. I will have the power that I require.” He turns and starts heading out towards the front lobby. Then he stopped. “I have a counter proposal for you, Alan, because of our long association and the help you have given me tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Convince Derek to surrender the Hale spark to Cora. She is already part of my pack; I will have what I want, and no one here will have to die. If he values his legacy so little, let him surrender it.”

Alan knew this would not fly. Derek might be willing to give up his spark to save his sister, but he would never tolerate her remaining with the Alpha pack. “How does that get you what you want?”

“Cora could bite a few candidates and then kill them. But they wouldn’t be teenagers that you know. I would get what I want, and you would get what you want. Everyone would be happy.”

“I will bring that offer to Derek,” said the former emissary. He knew what the answer would be already. 

 

ERICA REYES

As she had been doing many times in the last week, Erica thought about running away. She was seventeen and a junior in high school. She wanted to graduate, buy a car, go to college. She didn’t want to die in this town after she just had gotten a second chance to live. But she knew that the alpha pack wouldn’t just let her go; Derek had let them know their plan, and she knew that her death was absolutely a part of it.

She couldn’t blame Derek for this. She recognized the intensity with which he trained them as trying to give them a chance. She saw the panic leak out of the corner of his eyes when he thought they weren’t looking. She heard the remorse in his voice as he talked about strategy and possibility and danger. 

The funny part of this was that she was not unfamiliar with the feeling. Her epilepsy was always like walking around with an unstable bomb. It could go off any moment. She was used to the idea that she could die any day – if she had a seizure in a dangerous situation, like crossing the street or if she had simply been alone when a seizure hit. She could have been dead at any time. There wasn’t much difference.

Well, there was a difference, a very important difference. She extended her claws and studied them. They were sharp and strong and she realized she loved them. She loved them so much, just as much as she loved her fangs and her eyes and the strange little ridges on her face. 

Because the difference is now, she could fight back. And that may not seem important in the face of death, but it was very important to her. If she was going to die, she was going to die with someone else’s blood on her hands. 

That was why when Boyd had come to her in the middle of the night with Kali’s … suggestion, she had argued against it. Blaming Derek for something these assholes were doing was wrong. Killing him to save their own skins seemed even worse to her. She was grateful to Derek. Perhaps things would change after the full moon, if the alphas had successfully killed one of them. 

She could take one day at a time. She had been surviving one day at a time for years. Now she was living them. She stood up from where she was sitting at a table in the recess yard and went back into the school. 

She walked deliberately through the hallway. No, she thought to herself, she stalked through the hallways. She was the predator now, and this was her domain. 

She did enjoy the way people reacted to her now. After the initial shock of her transformation, most of the other students had reacted with fear and lust. After time had passed, the fear had transformed into wariness, which she could handle, and the lust had … remained, which she could also handle. 

What she could not handle was the scent of another werewolf in her domain – a werewolf that was not of her pack and was an alpha. She knew the twins were pretending to be seniors at the school, but maybe they could not be here just two days before the full moon. She was angry and she moved faster down the hallway. She would at least give the asshole a piece of her mind.

She slowed down when she overheard the conversation he was having. He wasn’t alone. She brought herself to a stop at a range where she could hear what they were talking about, but the other werewolf would have to be focusing to hear her breath or her heart.

“I just don’t want anything to change,” Ethan was saying. “And I am pretty sure that things are going to change.” 

“This is really confusing to me.” Erica recognized as Danny Mahealani. “You are trying to warn me that something is going to happen to change what we have without actually telling me what is going to happen. Not cool.”

“I wish I could tell you more, but if I told you more, it’d put you in danger.” Ethan’s voice hesitated. “Or, you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

Danny’s voice was hard. “I’m already in danger, even if you weren’t here.” He took a deep breath. “And I do like you. What could you do that would make me not like you?”

Ethan kissed him then; Erica could hear it. “Something that makes me not like me. I hope you never have to learn about it.” 

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“The night after tomorrow is the full moon. When you leave school, go home, and don’t go anywhere. If you call me, I might be busy.”

“Might?”

“They don’t tell me everything. Just promise me, okay?” His voice had urgency to it. 

Danny made a sound of exasperation. “I promise. But you will tell me more the day after the full moon. “ 

Ethan promised to say as much as he could, but then he had to go off for class. Erica smiled to herself as she realized that Danny was coming toward her. If she could cause a little trouble, she would. 

“Danny.” Erica said stepping in front of him. “You have really bad taste in boyfriends.”

Danny frowned at that. “Thank you for that completely unsolicited commentary on my social life, Erica. Goodbye.” He tried to step around her but she slid right in his way.

“I’ve got some more, if you want it, Danny. I can tell you exactly what your boyfriend is doing this weekend, and who he is doing it to.”

Danny looked for a moment like he was going to brush her off, but then his face collapsed a little. “What do you want? I want to know …”

Erica smiled something that was not kind, but predatory. “This is a freebie, but not here. Some place where we can’t be overheard.”

Danny took her into the music room, which had soundproofed walls. It was something Erica had never thought of before. If she was still alive she would have to make use of it.

“So, I get the feeling you know a lot about your boyfriend, but not everything.” Erica started. “So I’m just going to be blunt and spill what I know, and if you don’t believe me, well that’s your loss.”

Danny nodded grimly. “So, tell me, already.”

“I’m a werewolf.” She paused to see his reaction; when he didn’t react with surprise, she knew her guess had been right. “We run in packs. Your boyfriend’s pack has decided to kill us. You’re dating a murderer.”

Danny processes this for a moment. “Okay. Why are your two packs fighting?”

It was neither the question nor the reaction she wanted. “They want our alpha to join their pack, but to do that, he has to kill his old pack, which includes me. They gave him until the full moon to kill us, or they’ll start killing us.”

Danny looked like he doesn’t understand or doesn’t believe that Ethan would be involved in such a thing. For about ten seconds, Erica felt bad. The point of this, however, was not to feel bad for Danny, but to disrupt the alphas by getting Danny on Ethan’s bad side. 

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.” 

“That makes two of us. I don’t know why Ethan is doing what that psycho Deucalion is telling him, but he has probably killed others in the past, and he’s going to kill people you know in the near future. Or we’re going to be forced to kill him. It’s crazy, but I just thought you deserved to know.”

Danny sat down on one of the chairs in the room. “So Ethan could die soon? Who else could die that I know?”

“Me. Stiles Stilinski. Vernon Boyd. Isaac Lahey. Scott McCall. Derek Hale. The sheriff, too – he isn’t going to let his son just die. People you’ve gone to school with. We’re probably all going to die. Ethan and his people are much stronger than we are.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Danny said with heat. “Some of you may deserve it.”

Erica suddenly felt like she was seeing red – not like an alpha, but like a murderous rage – and she suddenly grew her claws. “Well, all of us are going to die, whether we deserve or not. Maybe they’ll kill me on the full moon, maybe someone I am friends with, maybe someone I love. And if they do, maybe I’ll take a person that they love. He does care about you, you know. I didn’t think psycho alphas could care for people but …” She shrugged with mock innocence.

“It won’t be the first time someone I loved died at the hands of werewolves.” Danny refused to be intimidated. “You want to do something, do it – otherwise, I’m leaving.”

Erica watched him push out of the chair and storm out of the room. “Shots fired,” she smirked to herself. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

 

SHERIFF STILINSKI

The battle plans are set. They are going to use the old abandoned train station – not the loft – for the full moon. The loft is defensible, but it is a defense without a retreat. The only ways out were the stairs, the elevator, and a multi-story drop. If the fight went badly, it would be a massacre.

The train station had any number of ways to escape – and the sheriff made sure that each and every person to be present on the night of the full moon – all four werewolves, his son, and Chris Argent – knew where every exit was. 

The sheriff was no longer being a sheriff. He was being a soldier. Again, he fought off the urge to call in the state police, the National Guard, someone to help him contain these bloodthirsty monsters that wanted to kill teenagers for the sake of some grand mad scheme. He knew, however, that saving these teenagers won’t matter much to all the innocent werewolves out there if he revealed their existence to the world. Everyone had been taught to hate and fear the wolf; he was just going to have to fix it himself.

He was very grateful for the presence of Chris Argent and his family, and he had finally come over to the side that people like the Argents were needed. Their grasp of tactics and logistics were sound. Chris Argent was going to be at the center point, armed with an assault rifle and a werewolf taser. Victoria Argent was going to be a remote station, observing cameras placed around the train station. Allison insisted on helping, and she had set up a cage in the station itself, allowing her to shoot with her bow.

He would be with Chris and Derek at the front point of defense, with Stiles and the three betas behind them. It was designed for maximum attrition before the alphas got anywhere near their targets. Maybe they hadn’t been expecting the Hale Pack/Argent alliance. The sheriff wasn’t going to assume victory, however, since he knew that the alphas were not stupid, especially their leader.

The only part of the plan he did not like was the fact that one target was stored remotely. Scott was a target, even though he was in Eichen House. His old boss and his psychiatrist promised that he would be safe however, without going into exactly why. He would hold them responsible if it didn’t work.

John was as prepared as he thought he could be. That did not make him feel any better. He could only hope there would be a change in the situation. Maybe they would bloody the alpha pack’s nose so badly that they would back off. One could only hope. Now all they had to do was make sure people got into position. 

 

STILES STILINSKI

Stiles talked into the phone rapidly as he could. “No, I don’t know what Isaac did to get a detention on the full moon, on this full moon, and I am sure that if we are both still alive after the full moon is over, the entire pack can get together an interrogate the hell out of him.” Derek was grousing on the other end of the line, though they both knew he was concealing being frantic with worry. “Calm down, Derek. I doubt they’re going to try something with dozens of teachers and a hundred students nearby.”

He moved as quickly as he could through the hallway. All the practice with the leg and the cane was letting him move at a respectable pace, though he wasn’t going to be sprinting anytime soon. Derek was speaking in his usual forceful voice on the phone, warning him to be careful and to come to the pre-ordained location immediately and yadda-yadda-yadda. Stiles knew this already, and Derek was doing what Derek did – sublimating his worry and concern into assholery. If he had actually been present, there would probably be some throwing-into-walls going on. It was touching, in its own way.

“My dad will be waiting for us when Isaac gets out of detention. I’m going to hang up now, and I will see you in less than two hours.” He hung up before Derek could say anything. 

It was very satisfying, but he knew he was right. The alphas had been very careful not to perform any of their nefarious hijinks in public where other people could see. With proper care – and the humiliating possibility of insisting that Isaac run while carrying him – they shouldn’t be in too much danger. 

The universe loved to witness people thinking like that and kicking them square in the balls. Stiles stopped as he neared the detention hall when he was greeted by horrific growls and sounds of desks being smashed around a classroom. Stiles moved forward but he knew what he was going to see when he looked in the window – an alpha werewolf trying to kill Isaac. 

Stiles should have called Derek. Stiles should have called his dad or Mr. Argent. He should have not gone into the room. He had been in the room with a raging werewolf before and it hadn’t worked out well for him. But he couldn’t leave Isaac by himself, and no one else could get there in time. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but to leave a friend in danger was just not him. He hoped they put that on his tombstone.

Ennis was in the middle of breaking Isaac’s upper arm with a sickening thud. The alpha was enraged because he had four long claw marks across his face – they were still healing so Isaac had actually scored really deep. Good for Isaac, though Stiles. “Hey! Let him go!” Across the room, Ms. Blake, the teacher who had given Isaac detention was pressed up against the chalk board. She did not seem to be totally freaking out.

Ennis turned and looked at him, dropping Isaac who was completely unconscious by this point. At least, Stiles hoped he was unconscious, because Isaac’s clothes were soaked in blood and his arms were hanging at an odd angle and if he were dead … 

Stiles just let it out. “You asshole.”

Ennis shrugged. “Ahhhh. The baby emissary. It’s not your turn, so you can just be patient while I finish off this puppy.” 

Stiles grabbed his cane and lifted it. He wanted to say something snarky or badass, but the only time he had ever met someone so coldly indifferent about murder was Gerard, and that was saying something. His tongue felt frozen to the roof of his mouth, but he croaked out “Get away from him.” 

Ennis just sneered at him and turned away. He wasn’t the wittiest monstrous alpha. He could easily disrespect a novice emissary with one leg. Stiles seethed with rage. He was going to clock him with the mountain ash cane, even though the chance of him stopping the werewolf was nil. He couldn’t just stand there and watch Isaac die.

It turned out that he didn’t have to. The tower of the desktop computer on the teacher’s desk flew through the air and smashed right into back of Ennis’s head. There was the crunch of bone as the back of his skull shattered and he dropped to the floor.

“In the idiom, I think the word for that is bull’s-eye. Or is that a cliché now?” Ms. Blake stepped forward. Stiles gaped; she had thrown it like someone would throw a dodge ball. “Really, Mr. Stilinski, you have terrible timing. I was trying to wait until Mr. Lahey was unconscious before making my move. Oh, well.”

Stiles heard someone enter the room behind him, turning on his foot in surprise. It was Jackson. Stiles mind went into full overdrive for thirty seconds as he watched the reanimated co-captain stalk in and pick up Ennis’s body. Jackson didn’t look dead. He looked alive and unblemished, if a little pale. 

Stiles whirled around. “You’re the darach.”

Ms. Blake simply approach Jackson and Ennis, unwinding the garrote she had hidden I her desk. “I had hoped that I could have maintained my anonymity for a bit longer, but I knew that eventually I’d be discovered. I suppose it is fine; only one more set of sacrifices to go.” She glanced over at Stiles and said sarcastically. “I suspect that school will be cancelled tomorrow.”

“You’ve completed philosophers.” Stiles suddenly realized that he had no hope of fighting her off. He could make a run for it and call for help, but that would still leave Isaac at the mercy of the darach – and this made his brain scream in panic – her undead minion. 

“I have. That leaves only guardians, which can apply to many people. A guardian watches over other people and puts their wellbeing first. This could mean things like parents, civic leaders, or . . . “ Her face grew cold and harsh. “ . . . alphas. I’m not picky.”

Ennis was unconscious, but even so, he was being lifted by Jackson as if he weighed nothing. Stiles remained frozen in place with indecision as Ms. Blake completed the sacrifice. This was the first time that Stiles had witnessed a sacrifice – he could feel the power flowing into her. 

After a pause, Stiles swallowed. “What are you going to do to me and Isaac? Emissaries are guardians, too.” He knew he wasn’t going to run and get away. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. 

Jackson gestured at the blood and the corpse. “Shouldn’t we start cleaning this up?” He turned to Stiles. “Hi, Stilinski. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.” 

“That depends entirely on your friend here, Jackson.” Ms. Blake took a step toward him, while Jackson snorted in decision. “I would never harm a fellow emissary unless I had no choice. So, are you going to give me a choice? You could easily say that you found Isaac unconscious here and helped him retreat to wherever your pack is holding up. They won’t detect lies unless they want you to.”

Stiles knew he should just go along with it; he should just say yes and then tell his father and Derek what was going on. “You were an emissary?”

“I was Kali’s emissary.” Jennifer Blake sneered. “I am going to do what is necessary to end the threat of the alpha pact, to punish them for their crimes, which will save your pack.”

“So you are doing this to save Derek’s pack.” Stiles made a face. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

“I have good reason to help Derek, though I have plenty of other reasons. I had thought about going to him first, but this way keeps his hands clean. He doesn’t need more blood on them. ”

“You have plenty. You’ve killed lots of innocent people.” Stiles gripped his cane like it was a bat. “People who have nothing to do with this.”

“I have, but it was necessary. How else are they going to be stopped? Does Derek actually believe he can win? He can fight, and he will die, and his pack will die, and then they’ll just move on to the next pack, killing people just as innocent as you or Isaac. I can stop them, but that takes power. Power I now have, because of both the sacrifices and my Guardian.” 

Jackson rolled his eyes at all the talking, but he went to the door to keep watch. 

Stiles looked at the corpse of the alpha and wonders if he was capable of doing the same thing. “What’s the price of this magic?”

“Ahh, you’ve learned the lesson well. Power like this always requires a price; the universe balances itself.” Ms. Blake went back into kindly teacher mode. “You may be asking yourself why does it look like she hasn’t paid any price? That is because the price was already paid. Innocent blood has been shed that makes my actions look amateur. And then there’s my face.” She bit her lip. “The universe recognizes the debt owed to it ... to me. So, tell me, Stiles, what’s your price?”

“My price?” Stiles said aloud. Mentally, he was telling Isaac to hurry up and heal, so they could make a break for it.

“What would it take to have you swear an oath not to reveal what you know? It wouldn’t harm your pack; you would be lying to your father, but you’ve done that before.” She came closer to him and even though he tried not to, his eyes were now fixed on her. “I know. I’ll heal Scott; I’ll give him his mind back.”

Stiles reeled and took a step back, even as he kept his eyes locked with hers. “Deaton and Morrell said that there wasn’t anything they could do.”

“There isn’t, not unless you cross a line that they won’t cross. That line? I’m so far beyond it that I can no longer see it. I have the knowledge and the power.“ She admitted it as if it were a badge of honor. “I am willing to do what I have to. So, what do you say?”

Stiles put one hand over his mouth. He knew as well as anyone that even if the pack somehow prevailed against the alpha pack, there would be casualties. He knew that Victoria Argent’s plan was the best they had, and it was a long shot. He knew – especially after the late Ennis’s assault on Isaac – that he really didn’t have a good grasp on what tactics the alpha would or would not use. Everyone he cared about could die. 

He also knew that given the length of time that Scott had remained feral, he was probably going to remain that way. There was always hope, but it wasn’t a powerful one. It was the type of hope that existed to make you face the next day. Given what he had learned, he had no doubt that Ms. Blake could do something. After all, it must have been her that reanimated Jackson, and every knowledgeable person with whom he was acquainted was freaking the fuck out over that.

He also knew – he couldn’t help but know – that there were twelve people dead because of Ms. Blake. Thirteen if you counted Ennis but Stiles certainly did not. If he kept quiet, if he didn’t tell his father, he would be guilty accessory after the fact in thirteen murders. That’s serious jail time.

“Good luck convicting me,” Stiles said out loud. “Can you heal Scott within twenty-four hours? It’s not that I don’t trust you, it is that I don’t fucking trust you and the Walking Dead over there.”

Jackson flipped him off.

“For your oath? I’m sure you understand what type of oath I’m talking about,” Ms. Blake said pointedly. Stiles knew that meant an oath that would severely fuck him up if he broke it. 

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and spit on the ground. “I swear on my own blood that if you heal Scott within twenty-four hours, I will not speak of what I know about you or Jackson to anyone who does not already know it for sure.” He has learned enough to make that oath stick, and Ms. Blake, who obviously was better at this then he was. 

“So be it. Jackson, would you be kind enough to help Stiles get Isaac to where he needs to take him? I’ll clean the mess up in here.”

 

JENNIFER BLAKE

Jennifer concentrated on the summoning magic; she had become so good at this, she was able to clean up the classroom from its disarray while the insects she was summoning cleaned up all physical trace of the assault. Ennis’s body, she would save for last. It needed to be displayed … prominently.

Energized by the sacrifices she had committed, her senses were sharp enough to detect the person entering the room. She relaxed – she had not expected her other accomplice to arrive. 

“One down, two to go.” Lydia Martin observed. “Was it as good for you as it was for him?”

“What are you doing here, Lydia? It is dangerous for you to be here.” Jennifer picked up the computer; this was ruined beyond her capacity to fix. She would create a good lie for the IT guy in the morning. 

“I heard Ennis’s death. It was simple curiosity, and I saw Jackson, Stiles and Lahey leave the building. I’ll be long gone before any of them could return. I also wanted to remind you of our deal.”

“I am satisfied with the deal. The twins are the least of the alpha pack, and given the amount of help you’ve been, I doubt it is because you’re infatuated with Aiden. I have to admit once again, Lydia, I did not think a teenage girl was capable of this level of ruthlessness and manipulation.”

“We’re all works in progress,” the red-head brightly observed. “I am just glad you saw the potential benefit of having a banshee working on your side, once you realized that I wasn’t interested in stopping your sacrifices. If I hadn’t been on your side, you would probably have a rougher time of it. Your revenge will be complete soon, and I’ll have what I want. Win-win.” 

Jennifer shakes her head. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t want Jackson to know that you could bring him back. It seems to me that it would bind you to him even more.” 

Lydia smiled as she glanced out the window. “Let us just say that our relationship is complicated. Jackson will feel better about himself if he felt that he did this on his own. Things are going to get very complex around here for soon. Until now, most of the supernatural pieces on the board were focusing on each other – this death changes things.”

“I’m counting on it,” observed Jennifer. “With Jackson and your assistance, I am confident. I won’t even have to wait for the lunar eclipse. You should go. I am going to have exert some power to move Ennis’s body unseen.”

“After this is all over, we should do lunch sometime. I love your shoes,” chirped Lydia and then left the room.

Jennifer watched her leave. The banshee was going to bear watching, but if she was going to mess with her plans for revenge, she would have done it by now. Soon, Kali and Deucalion would be dead – if Lydia failed to dispense with the Twins, they wouldn’t be any match for her after the point. Then she could stop looking for revenge and start looking for a life. She would seek out Derek. 

 

ISAAC LAHEY

Isaac came to in the back of a police car. He was aware of the pain caused by broken bones and slow-healing slashes. He groaned, but he was actually surprised. He thought he was a dead man – or a dead werewolf. His vision was blurry, but he could make out Stiles next to him and Stiles’ father in the seat up front.

“Shhhh,” Stiles tried to sound consoling, but he ended up sounding a little panicked. “How do you feel, Isaac? Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

Isaac replied in a pained voice. “No. My eyes are closed.”

“He’s fine. Sarcasm is the first thing to go when you are dying,” bitched Stiles. The emissary didn’t mean it, because Isaac felt him physically going over the wounds. “Damn it, the bone is setting wrong. We’re going to have to break it again.”

The sheriff made a grunting noise. “No one expected this.”

Isaac grunted. Everyone had been so confident that the alpha pack would attack without drawing too much attention to themselves – that is how they had acted before, in the stories Derek and Chris could come up with. 

Isaac wants to curl up and sleep for days, but he knows what the Stilinski are thinking about. “Why am I still alive?”

He pushes opens his eyes and looks at Stiles who is still covering his wounds. “What happened? What happened to Ms. Blake?”

He was still woozy when he asks that, but Stiles said: “I think she got away.” He didn’t go on, but he was frowning, looking over at the wounds. 

The sheriff looked up. “Someone should talk to her.”

Isaac was about to volunteer, because, well, she was kinda hot, but Stiles interrupted fiercely. “I’ll do it. I’m good at lying.”

Isaac leans back down, feeling his flesh knit back together. “This is bad, right?”

Stiles murmured. “It’s going to hurt like hell and you’ll not be able to do much for a day or so.” He suddenly looked up. “You mean strategically? Oh, yeah. This is a freaking disaster.”

No one talked for the rest of the trip to the train station. They couldn’t go to the animal clinic because Deaton was at Eichen House with his sister, making sure Scott was safe. They brought them in and everyone crowded around him, until the sheriff insisted they get back into position. Just because the alphas had gotten the jump on Isaac at the school, didn’t mean they still weren’t coming tonight.

Isaac lay on an old couch that Derek had stored here; Stiles was treating him. “I saw you. “

Stiles did not look him in the face. “Yes. You saw me.” His voice was low so other people could not hear it. Werewolf hearing was great, but Isaac was sure that they were busy focusing outside so as not to be surprised. Stiles was using the first aid kit to clean up the wounds. Derek had reset the bone and Stiles had splinted it to so it would heal properly.

Isaac was glad to be surrounded by pack, to be healing, to be able to rest, but he couldn’t let it go. “Why am I not dead? What did you do?”

Stiles did not answer but continued working on the bandages. Isaac could hear Derek, Mr. Argent, and the sheriff discussing the next step they were going to take. 

Isaac reached out with a hand and grabbed Stiles’ arm. “What did you do? What happened to Ennis?”

“Isaac,” Stiles hissed at him. “Does it matter? You aren’t dead and I’m trying to make you better. I’m trying to do the best I can here, and if I explain it to everyone, all it is going to do is make things worse. Just trust me, okay? Ennis didn’t kill you, I found you. No one else was hurt.”

He squeezed the arm to show that he meant business. “But why? I don’t believe you.”

“Listen to my heart: I did what I thought was best. Maybe it was the wrong thing, but it is what I did.” Stiles’ voice is harsh. “You’re alive. What does it matter how it happened? You’ll live another day, and we’ll keep fighting.”

“You need to work on your mystic emissary bullshit,” grated Isaac in pain. “Deaton’s much better at it than you are.”

“Isaac, shut up. Do you trust me? Have I ever given you one reason not to trust me?” 

“No. You haven’t.” Isaac hated admitting that. 

“So, trust me now. If I am leaving anything out, it is something that will only help the pack in the long run.” Stiles finished with the cleaning. “This wasn’t supposed to be my junior year, any more than it was yours.”

“Well, I kind of like it, when people aren’t trying to beat me to death.” Isaac smiled grimly. “It’s been much better than I thought, but … look, we may not be friends, Stiles, but I do trust you. If you think it doesn’t matter, then it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” Stiles let out a long breath. Isaac could smell the relief coming off of him, mixed with some other emotion. 

Isaac leaned back and went to rest again. Right now, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter when the alpha pack didn’t attack that night. It did not matter when they did not attack the next day. It did matter on Saturday morning, when joggers found Ennis’s body in the city park. Sacrificed. 

He was mostly healed by then. The splint was gone, the arm functioning, and the wounds were closed. Derek and Dr. Deaton told him not to put himself through too many stress. They told him to stay home. He was not going to stay home. He needed to talk to Stiles. Isaac knew he wasn’t a prodigy, but he knew enough about deception and avoiding trouble, and Stiles was avoiding something big. If the darach had killed Ennis, then Stiles could have seen who had stopped Ennis from killing him. This meant that Stiles could know who the darach was. And yet, the emissary had not said anything.

In contravention of every instruction that Derek had given him, Isaac got on his bike and rode over to the Stilinski house. If the Alpha pack showed up and murdered him, it would be the least he deserved, but he had to know.

He caught Stiles as he was heading out. “You going somewhere?” 

“Eichen House. My taxi should be here any moment.” Stiles looked to the jeep sitting in the driveway. 

Isaac slid off his bike and put down the kickstand. “Why would you be going there?” He focused on Stiles’ scent and heart beat; they screamed both excitement and anxiety. The emissary wasn’t glad he was here. 

“Scott’s woke up,” Stiles says simply. “I mean, he wasn’t asleep, but he’s remembered who he is. He’s not totally all there yet, but … he’s been feral for over a year. I want to see him.” He was not looking at Isaac at all. 

“Fine. I’ll go with you.” Isaac put his bike to one side of the driveway. “None of us should be alone; that’s what Derek said.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles said rapidly. “I should be perfectly safe. No need to go out of your way; you didn’t even know Scott before.” 

“He’s my pack mate, isn’t he?” Isaac was taking perverse pleasure out of this. He could tell that Stiles was uncomfortable about him. “Hey, you got the keys for your jeep? I can drive you. You don’t have to spend the money for the taxi.”

“I said,” Stiles insisted, “that you don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I don’t have to. If you don’t want me to, then I guess I can go talk to Derek or your father.” Isaac moved so Stiles would have to look him in the eyes. “About stuff.”

Stiles looked up. “Okay. Blackmail.” He pulled out his keys, canceled the cab, and told his father that he and Isaac were going to Eichen House. “Can you drive a stick?”

“Well enough.” Isaac ground the gears to prove a point. “Shall we go?”

Stiles grumbled as the jeep started moving. “There are things I can’t tell you. There are things I won’t tell you.”

Isaac talked as he drove. “You saw Ennis die.”

“Yes.” Stiles was determinedly looking out the other side of the jeep. 

“You know who killed him.” Isaac made it a statement rather than a question on purpose. Stiles did not answer. 

“I am going to take that as a yes. You know who killed him, but you won’t tell us. You won’t tell us because it is the darach, a dark druid that’s been murdering people. You know who it is, but you are protecting them.”

“Nope,” Stiles said intransigently. “Close but wrong.” 

“What parts of it are wrong? You don’t know? You’re not protecting them?”

Stiles made an elaborate shrug. “I told you that there are things that I can’t say. And there are things that I won’t say. So, this is going to be frustrating for everyone involved unless you can trust me.” He looks over at Isaac. “You know that emissaries can do magic and shit, right? Well, let me tell you about some magic that they can do. They can swear an oath to each other that has really nasty repercussions should they break that oath.”

“Right.” He shook his head. “Thus the refrain of trust, trust, trust. You want me to hide this from my alpha. That’s pretty trusting, especially since it was you who taught me that the bonds of the pack make us strong.” 

Stiles scowled at him. “Nothing’s perfect.”

Isaac grunted and kept driving toward Eichen House. It was disappointing for Stiles when Morrell refused to let Stiles see Scott, though she assured them that he had indeed come back to himself. It was satisfying for Isaac, though. He didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t want to hide things from Derek, but he also didn’t want to cause dissension when there was still the rest of the alpha pack to deal with. He didn’t mind that Ennis had died, since the alpha was trying to kill him at that point. He was conflicted, and if he was going to be uncomfortable and frustrated, he’d like Stiles to be in the same boat. 

 

DEREK HALE:

Derek felt like a child that’s snuck his way into a meeting of adults. No one was treating him that way, because they knew he had a position of authority and responsibility. He felt this way because he had no clue what to do and no way to express his confusion and hopelessness without sounding exactly like a guileless child.

He sat at the table in the Sheriff’s house with Chris Argent, Victoria Argent, Alan Deaton, Marin Morrell and the Sheriff himself. The rest of his pack (minus Scott and plus Allison) were watching movies and eating pizza in the living room – he had essentially ordered them to be teenagers for one night. Alan had set up a barrier so event the superior ears of his betas could not overhear what they were talking about.

Derek concentrated on listening and tried to look serious. He could feel an itch under his skin to exert his alpha-ness and tell these people what was going to happen. He knew it would be a terrible and immature thing to do. His desire to protect his pack and to dominate the situation was in conflict with his reason and common sense. He knew he couldn’t do this alone without sacrificing his entire pack.

Victoria Argent broke the silence, food and drink untouched in front of her. Derek had suspected she would be the first to do so. He had learned over the past year that she was supposed to be the leader of the Argent family and that Gerard had been usurping her position for the last decade or so. He also knew that she did not like any werewolf on principle. Derek did not like her, but he respected her skills as an administrator and a leader. He also thought it pretty likely that she did not respect him one bit. It wasn’t just her prejudice against werewolves; she looked at him like he was a college student home on break. He could blame her for one but not the other.

“I must say that the situation is unsettled. We all made the assumption that Deucalion would avoid a public confrontation. He obviously will not. We also know that the darach –“ She sounded like she had just discovered her kitchen was infested with mice. “—is focused on the alpha pack. From what our bestiary has described, their powers vary depending on the rituals they employ. I’d ask our resident experts for a great description of what we can expect.”

She takes a deep breath. “I would also suggest that a change in tactics is in order. Allow Chris and me to summon the rest of our family’s organization. The other participants in our alliance could fall back into defensive positions. “

To everyone’s credit, no one immediately shouted her down. Derek wanted to, but there was a small voice in him that said: Good, let hunters die in destroying my enemies.

“It is not a simple solution. My command of these hunters will not be absolute; my father-in-law saw to that. If we do this, we will want to take steps to make sure that Derek and his pack are incognito – truly off the grid – for as long as our family’s hunters remain.” She glances at Derek. “In the spirit of alliance, I will be honest that if we destroy the alpha pack with the help of these reinforcements, it will help me reclaim my authority.”

“What about the darach?” This is the Sheriff. You could tell from the look in his eyes that he is about done with all of this, but he is old enough and wise enough to know he has no choice but to continue to cooperate. His goal is to protect his son and his city, in that order.

Chris says simply. “He or she has murdered twelve innocent people. The darach is worse than any rogue omega, and no Argent hunter will have a problem with killing whoever it is.” 

“What are the downsides of this plan?” The sheriff would be the one to ask the tough question. 

“Victoria can’t guarantee that once she lets them come here they’ll obey her,” Derek spoke up. “She wants to, but she can’t guarantee it. Once they’re here, they might come for those people who put Gerard in jail – that means all of us.”

Chris didn’t deny it. “And they’ll have to come in force. Even down one alpha, the pack is still extraordinarily strong.”

“Is anyone else wondering if that cure is worse than the disease,” observed Alan. “But on the other hand, what other options do we have?”

“A direct assault is out of the question,” Derek stated fervently. “They outmaneuvered us before and none of my betas are close to being sufficiently trained. They’re down Ennis, but the twins and Kali could match my pack in a fight easily, and that’s not even counting Deucalion.”

“Or Cora,” Victoria pointed out. “If she has accepted Deucalion as her alpha, he could force her to fight even you.” 

“Which puts you are a psychological disadvantage, which I am sure Deucalion was counting on when he revealed it to you,” added Alan with an attempt at comfort.

Derek frowned so hard that he felt his muscles ache. He couldn’t argue against anything they were saying.

Morrell offered her first tidbit. “There is the possibility of hit-and-run tactics.” She observes. “The alphas, by definition, are less cohesive than a standard pack. They may desire to operate independently, and they can be vulnerable”

“But they’ve lost one of their own, when they never have before, and now they can be sure that they have a powerful new enemy,” stated Chris. “They’ll be more careful.”

The sheriff looked at the Argents. “Do you honestly believe that your plan would minimize casualties?”

Victoria nodded. “Yes. The alpha pack may even flee if they become convinced they are too heavily outnumbered to prevail. It would give us some time.”

The sheriff turned to Derek. “I am not going to lie and say that I would prefer someone else besides your pack – which includes my son – handle this problem. But I want to hear your decision.”

All eyes turned to him. He took a sip of the beer that Stilinski had provided. The alcohol wouldn’t affect him, but he needed a moment to gather his words and wet his mouth. He wished for the second time that Laura would be there.

“I don’t like hunters. I don’t like the Argents. This is for obvious reasons.” He took a deep breath. “I want to save my sister. I want to protect my betas and my emissary. If it was three years from now, when my pack was older and more experienced, I would spurn your offer and handle it myself. But they aren’t. They’re children. I offered them the bite because it is supposed to be a gift. It is supposed to help them. I didn’t do it to recruit soldiers for my cause.” He looked at Victoria. “I can’t abandon my sister, so I need to be part of your attack. I know, I know, it will make things more difficult, but if you can’t guarantee that Cora won’t be hurt, I’ll put myself at risk and work with you directly.”

He catches Victoria with his eyes. She stares back at him and nods once. 

“I want to ask you, Sheriff, and you two, to step away and let the Argents and I handle this. I want to entrust you with my pack.”

“I am afraid that we can’t do that, Derek,” answered Alan. “We can’t ignore the presence of a darach; we can’t pretend the darach isn’t perverting our knowledge for his or her own ends. We’ll do what we can to help protect your pack, but my sister and I have talked about this.”

The sheriff says. “I can do that. Hell, I’d rather do that.”

There was a moment of silence and the group came to the same conclusion – this is how it would play out. 

Chris turned to the druids. “Can you give us any idea about what the darach can do?”

Morrell said: “I have studied what I could of her rituals. I believe, at the minimum, she has ‘borrowed’ the virtues of her sacrifices: influence, strength and combat skill, healing of herself and others, and the ability to think tactically. She also is capable of powerful rituals.”

The sheriff noticed it first. “You identified her as a ‘she.’ Do you know who it is?”

Morrell shook her head. “No, I don’t.” She looks up. “But I do know she was the one who brought Scott McCall back to consciousness. All I could get from the Eichen House guards was that it was a woman who visited McCall last – someone who wasn’t on the duty roster or the visitor roster. Our cameras didn’t record anything.”

“Why would she do that?” Chris Argent asked. No one could answer. 

Alan turned to his sister. “So … how is he?”

“Disoriented. Traumatized. The method the darach used to bring him back was not the healthiest approach. There’s a reason that I am a practicing psychologist – magic can be very useful, but it lends itself to brute-force solutions. The human mind is not like the body; forcing it to do what you want can make the situation worse.” She looked at the sheriff. “He alternates between wondering why he can’t go home and remembering what happened. I have not yet informed his parents – it would be best, in my opinion, to wait until the present crisis is resolved.”

The sheriff stared at his drink. Derek could smell the guilt coming off of him; he knew that it would never sit well with the older Stilinski that he had had to pin his uncle’s rampage on an innocent teen. “I think that’s good, Marin,” the sheriff said. “We’ll work on that later.”

“That is all well and good,” interjected Victoria, “but I want to make sure that I understand what we’ve decided. Alan and Marin will focus on the darach, while Chris and I …” She frowned as she looked at Derek. “While Chris, Derek, and I will work with our family to harry the alpha pack. The sheriff will concentrate on keeping the children safe, including Allison.” Derek could tell that as much as she didn’t want him involved with the family dynamics that were about to come into play, she wanted Allison involved at this point even less.

No one was particularly happy, but no one had any better ideas.

 

PETER HALE

If all his plans went to shit, at least he could be a fabulous female impersonator.

He stared at Lydia Martin’s face in the mirror. He had learned so much about make-up and clothing in the last year. He had always had an endless hunger for knowledge, no matter how trivial or esoteric it seemed. He had learned so much in the last year as a disembodied passenger. 

But as annoying as this back-up plan could be, it was not going to shit. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Thanks to his sister’s emissary’s intervention, his tenuous grasp on Miss Martin had solidified into a tight control. Lydia had no idea when he took over her body; she wasn’t even aware of lost time. He had access to her banshee abilities and had denied her access. He had the ability to influence her actions even when he wasn’t in the driver’s seat. They had learned everything he needed to turn this from a last-minute Hail Mary pass into a freaking triumph.

He had his hooks into one of the alpha pack. While Aiden was loyal to the alpha of alphas – the title made both Lydia and him roll their eyes – he also was proud and confident. He was easily manipulated because all he wanted was to be worthy of Deucalion’s regard, but now he wanted also to be worthy of Lydia’s regard. Aiden wasn’t a teenager any more but he was very close and his long stint as an abused omega made him needy. That would fit Peter’s plan nicely. 

He also had made an alliance with Jennifer Blake, even though she was not aware of his true nature. At least, he hoped she was not aware of his true nature. She had a single-minded focus on her revenge, and a ridiculous amount of power. There were both things of which he could make excellent use and things with which he could fundamentally emphasize. She was grateful to Lydia for supplying her with Jackson. He was glad; if she started to become a problem, he had influence over Jackson she may not know about.

As pleasant an alternative to death the last year had been, Peter was beginning to grow impatient. He could not remain within Lydia forever, stable or not stable. Eventually, he would have to eject her soul completely – which would trap in this form, and while a banshee’s powers were extraordinarily handy, he preferred the physicality of a werewolf – specifically, an alpha werewolf. 

But then, that’s what Aiden was for, wasn’t he?

Now, he knew that the final confrontation was coming. Three sides were in play: the darach with her sacrifice-driven power and her undead minion, the alpha pack with their strength and tactical experience, and the shaky alliance of humans, hunters, and his nephew’s inexperienced pack and their … earnestness? He chuckled out loud. 

Of course, there was a fourth side. His side. He could use the confusion to hide his existence and slink out of the city without anyone being the wiser. Or, he could take advantage of the situation to gather more power than he had ever dreamed of. It would be far riskier, but since his revenge was complete, what was left? All he had to do was run the table.


	4. Reclamation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alpha Pack, the Darach and her minion, and the Hale Pack settle into a three-way standoff. Whoever moves first will regret it. Meanwhile, a mysterious player pulls the strings from the shadows, and everyone pays for it.

AIDEN:

Aiden stirred to wakefulness. Immediately, he sighed to the darkened room; he wasn’t supposed to have fallen asleep. There was something called a Darach hunting the members of his pack and Deucalion had left specific instructions that they were never supposed to be alone. Whoever this enemy was, it had killed Ennis, and while he wasn’t the best fighter or the strongest, the deceased Alpha had been fucking tough.

Aiden knew that what he was doing defied Deucalion – a little. He technically wasn’t alone; he was sleeping with Lydia Martin. She had asked him over and he had been more than happy to come over. He didn’t regret climbing into her bedroom window, and they had had a wonderful time together. He had told her he wasn’t going to fall asleep because he had to leave before he was discovered, but he had anyway. 

Aiden knew that he was lying to Deucalion – a lot. As far as the alpha of alphas knew, he was with Ethan, but his brother had wanted to spend time with Danny. Both of them were probably still at Danny’s house. If there had been trouble there, he would have felt it through the link they shared.

He felt pretty bad about both his defiance and his lies. He looked up to Deucalion and he was grateful to the man for all he had done for them. Thanks to the Demon Wolf, he was no longer an omega, destined for the bottom for the rest of his life. Thanks to him, he was strong. Thanks to him, he was not afraid of anything. 

But right now, thanks to Lydia Martin, he was happy. He had not realized that he hadn’t been happy for a very long time.

It wasn’t anything like love. She was an assignment; he had approached her under false pretenses. Once she had heard about the appearance of his pack from the Hale Pack, it had not taken long for her to figure it out for herself. She was angry and flattered at the same time. He hadn’t apologized. 

After all, he was still watching her, because something strange was definitely going on. He may not have been the smartest member of his pack, but he had been trained by the best and he could see the signs. For example, sometimes Lydia would ask him over and then be surprised when he showed up. Sometimes she would give her opinion on a topic and then have a completely different opinion a few days later. The mistakes were always subtle, but he couldn’t tell if she was playing him or if there was something more sinister happening. When he brought this up to Deucalion, he speculated that he knew several species who would reject the bite of an alpha without dying, but it was impossible to narrow it down unless the species ‘presented’ itself, whatever that meant. He still wanted Aiden to keep an eye on her, because the blind alpha hated wild cards.

That was fine with him, because for all her eccentricities, Lydia was a beautiful, intelligent, and strong-willed woman. That she knew what he was, who he was, and what he was here to do and still wanted to spend time with him was flattering. That she was totally unafraid of him was comforting; he could imagine himself getting closer to her than anyone else in the world, save Ethan.

Deucalion was a leader and a mentor, but he had made it clear that he was not the least bit interested in any type of emotional bond with the alphas that made up his pack. He had especially made it clear to Ethan and Aiden, as the youngest members of the pack, that he had no interest in being a father figure. Aiden suspected that this attitude came from the events surrounding Deucalion’s blinding. He had gotten the story from Ennis and Kali, along with the admonition that it was never to be discussed in the alpha of alpha’s hearing.

Consumed by his thoughts, Aiden shifted on the bed. Lydia stirred next to him, and his senses were inundated by her scent, her form and her sounds. He understood that human’s senses were so dull compared to his, and he wondered how they could stand to be so blind to what was around them. He lay in Lydia’s bed in Lydia’s room and all she was surrounded him. Everything she was and everything she did was written on her body and in her life. Sleeping here was like drifting through her dreams. 

He let his senses go. You had to be careful not to let the ambient smells, noises, and sights overwhelm you. It was why it was still possible to surprise him, because usually he was spending part of his focus turning the senses down. Tonight though, he wanted to get the full impact of this moment.

Until he heard the two heartbeats outside the house, he did enjoy it. He knew that Lydia’s mother was in the master bedroom, quite asleep, but there were two heartbeats echoing from the backyard, beyond the courtyard of Lydia’s house.

It could be the Darach, it could be members of his pack, it could be members of the Hale pack, it could be burglars, but he knew damn well that he didn’t want them to come into the house. He wanted Lydia safe. He slid out of bed as gracefully as he could and pulled on his boxer briefs. He could have taken the time to get fully dressed, but he didn’t care and he wasn’t in the mood to worry about the intruders’ sensibilities.

Instead of leaving by the door, he left by the window, scrambling on top of the roof. He’d never been the stealthiest werewolf, though he had practiced, but his and Ethan’s merged form was so bulky that stealth was never really an option. So he would just have to be smarter – if he came out through the courtyard, they’d be gone. He was going to use his strength to get out ahead of them. 

With a running start and a leap, Aiden cleared both the courtyard and the wall behind it, landing near where he had heard the heartbeats but not that near. He also landed in a four-point stance – he wasn’t near as graceful as Kali when she did shit like this.

He could tell before he stood up that it was two of Derek’s betas: Boyd and Erica. To their credit, they did not freak out, though they did bring out their claws. 

“What are you doing here?” Aiden demanded.

To Aiden’s eye, Boyd was the most physical imposing and threatening of Derek’s betas. His demeanor and calmness were definitely an asset as well. The beta saw no reason to lie to him. “You. We were watching you.”

Erica, the blond wildcat, watched him with baleful eyes. She looked like she wanted to jump at him, but she probably had orders not to attack him without him attacking them first.

“Well. It’s annoying. Stop it.” It was annoying, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. If he were in their position, he might be doing the same thing.

Erica burst out laughing. “Right. We’re going to leave the guy who is going to try to kill us alone, because he asks us nicely.” Boyd didn’t contradict her or support her. He watched Aiden with serious intent.

“Look.” Aiden sighed. “I don’t run the show. Duke sets the timetable, so as far as I know you can rest easy for the next three-and-a-half weeks.” He just wanted them to leave, to stop interfering with the happiness he had been experiencing a few minutes ago.

Erica couldn’t let things go. “That’s wonderful. You are so full of shit.”

“Look, I don’t care one way or another about you, okay?” Aiden started to get angry. “It’s Duke who wants a Hale full-wolf shifter alpha in his pack, not me. So, why don’t you high-tail it out of here and either enjoy the time you’ve got left or learn to fight better. I could beat you two up and make you leave.”

Erica sneered. “If you don’t care about us one way or the other, why are you trying to kill us? I thought you were all alphas.” 

Aiden had a short temper, but he had the strongest feeling if he started a werewolf brawl outside of Lydia’s house and she found about it, he’d be in trouble. He let his eyes flashed red. “Does Derek have to use his alpha status on you every time he asks you to do something? No. You do it because he’s your leader. You do it because you owe him. Now, scram.”

Boyd stopped Erica from continuing her speech with one hand and pulled her away. “You don’t seem concerned about the Darach.”

“I’m not.” He hoped they hadn’t been listening to his heart. 

Boyd stopped moving and Aiden he realized that he had been listening to his heart. Boyd stared at him for a moment and said. “You could always leave. You don’t have to stay here.”

Erica looked like she wanted to challenge him again, but Boyd laid another hand on her arm. Aiden noticed how she calmed down; Boyd was definitely Derek’s lieutenant. 

Aiden figured out that he wasn’t giving anything away by admitting the truth. “Everything I want right now is here. I’m willing to fight for it. Are you?” The two betas left without saying anything more.

 

VICTORIA ARGENT:

Victoria was in the kitchen preparing dinner, mostaccioli arrabbiata, when Allison came home from school. She heard her daughter enter the front door, heard her put up her umbrella and drop her book bag onto the floor. Allison was quiet, and Victoria knew that meant she was lost in thought. 

Victoria wasn’t going to interrogate her. If Allison wanted to tell her what was going on, she would do so when she was comfortable in doing so. Though things were tense, it could just be normal teenage problems. Victoria hoped they were normal teenage problems.

Eventually, Allison walked into the kitchen. She offered a fake smile. “Oh, that smells great. Can I help?” 

“I’m sorry, Allison, but it’s all done. The only thing left to do is let it bake.” She smiled. “You can set the table when your father gets home.”

In frustration, Allison blows a lock of hair out of her face. Victoria missed the way Allison used to hear her hair long and loose; her daughter’s shorter haircut made her more look like a hunter now. Victoria couldn’t help but regret that she and Chris hadn’t been able to execute their original plan: let her have a completely normal childhood and then decide if she wanted to a hunter. That choice had been taken from her. Still, she had adapted well, and Victoria couldn’t be prouder.

“What homework do you have?”

“Oh, just some reading. Not much at all.” Allison stared at the wall as Victoria began cleaning up from the dinner preparations.

After a few minutes where Allison simply stared off into space, Victoria put down her towel. “Allison, is there something the matter?”

Allison looked up from where she had been staring. “We know what is going on, but I am just sitting here, doing nothing.”

“I wondered when we would get to that point.” At Allison’s surprised glance, Victoria gestured for her to sit on one of the stools in the kitchen, while she sat on the opposite one. “Here begins for you one of the most difficult lessons of being a hunter, though it actually applies to any organization or family – patience.”

Victoria continued. “I’m not surprised or disappointed, because every single hunter who has progressed as far or as well as you have has experienced this. This family does not become hunters to earn money or fame; we are supposed to do it because it is the right thing to do and our family is the best equipped to do it. Now, you are young, you see a problem, you know you have skills, but you are forced to sit and wait. The enemy could be gaining advantage; people could be dying; people you know could be dying, but the course of action advocated by leaders is to wait. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

Allison seemed embarrassed. “Yes, actually.”

“Too many people forget that the world is not a television show; problems don’t necessarily resolve themselves by the end of the episode. Things are complicated and there may not be an actual solution for many problems. I suspect that the fanatics in our own family became that way because they want situations to be over with simply and quickly. Isn’t that how the world is supposed to be? But if you give any thought to it, the real world is the exact opposite. Even the smartest, most perceptive people have to wait until things are made clear. If you look at the great man-made disasters of the world, I would wager three-quarters of them were caused by people wanting to force reality to conform to their schedule.”

Allison did not actually try to argue, but she did bring up the point that was bothering her. “So, we know there’s an evil druid, four dangerous alphas, and an allied werewolf pack staring at each other across the city, and we do nothing?”

Victoria nodded. “We are not doing ‘nothing.’ We are waiting; we are planning; we are preparing. If the Darach moves, both our alliance and the alpha pack will move against her. If the alphas move, both the Darach and our alliance will move against them. The Darach may not be interested in attacking Derek’s pack, which may gives us the advantage, but, on the other hand, our plan to call in the rest of our family is a bit of a nuclear option. Once we pull that trigger, things will escalate quickly.”

“When are we going to be ready to pull that trigger?” Allison asked.

“No. I think things will happen on the next full moon. Deucalion knows his own strength; I have no reason to suspect that he is going to give up his goal. The Darach still has the advantage of anonymity. She will conceal herself until she has the chance to take out Deucalion.”

Allison sighed. “The next full moon is seventeen days away, and we don’t know their plans. The alpha pack surprised us last full moon.”

“You are absolutely correct, dear, which is why we must wait to act until we have more information. Without intelligence, only a massive assault will work, but we are trying to do this with a minimum of casualties and a minimum of exposure. It would be easier if we didn’t care.”

Allison smiled strangely at this point. “I always knew you were someone I would respect, but I didn’t realize how much you had hidden from me until right now. I’m not complaining; Dad explained what you wanted for me, and I appreciate it.”

“It was an easy decision. Your father had an … unpleasant childhood.” She said that as gently as she could. “I was not from a hunting family; I was a recruit. But I knew how much it hurt your father not to have a choice. We wanted you to have a choice, which meant you had to experience a life without hunting. If you knew we were hunters, you might want to become a hunter just to please us.”

Allison smiled again and chuckled. “For a while there, during my stay in the hospital, I thought you hated me.”

Victoria was surprised. Allison had never indication that she thought they would be upset. “Hated you?” 

Allison looked down at the counter. “For dating Scott. I mean, I know that I didn’t know, but it must have been embarrassing to you and Dad for me to date someone you hated, like dating a felon. It was silly, I know.”

“I don’t hate Scott; I wouldn’t have hated him or you. I just hate werewolves.” Victoria said simply. “You think that’s a contradiction, but it isn’t. Do you remember Mr. Lassiter from when we lived in Idaho?”

“Oh, I was six, but I think so.”

“He was a bitten werewolf. You could never find a person less adhering to the stereotype. He was a florist; he was a deacon in his church; he taught Sunday school. He was an upstanding citizen in the community. Then, one of the winters we were there, Mrs. Lassiter took a corner too fast and wrecked her truck. She died on the way to the hospital. Mr. Lassiter was bereft, but he talked with his pastor and he talked with his grief counselor. And on the next full moon, he murdered three people. Mrs. Lassiter was his anchor you see, and she had been his anchor ever since he was turned.”

Allison had listened closely. “Normal people go crazy as well.”

“Of course they do, but the tragedy wasn’t that he went crazy. The tragedy was that after the full moon, the very next day, he was completely back to normal; a man you couldn’t conceive of hurting anyone. A man whom I would have trusted to babysit you if he was human, by his very nature, became a killer because of something as sad as his wife dying in a car accident and the time of the month. How do you deal with that?” She looked at Allison. “Do you let him continue? Do you send him to jail?”

“If Peter Hale had just bit Scott and hadn’t terrorized him into being a killer, even if he had been the sweetest boy I ever met, every time you walked out the door I would have worried about you. Every day I would have wondered – is this the day where he loses control? Is this the day where I have to identify your body?” She shook her head. “I don’t hate Scott. I didn’t hate Mr. Lassiter. I hate werewolves.”

“That’s not fair, though.”

Victoria nodded emphatically. “It’s not fair. But think about how many things are unfair right now? Is it unfair that Scott’s family has to think he’s a psychotic murderer? Is it fair to you to be deprived of your innocence? It isn’t. But, that’s why what we do is so important; we protect who we can.” She continued. “Just as it is not fair that our family and Derek’s pack isn’t caught between two powerful evil forces and we have to sit patiently, knowing that their next move could be the death of an innocent. It is why we must be strong.”

Victoria looked up. “That’s your father’s car. You can set the table now.” 

 

JENNIFER BLAKE:

Jennifer studied herself in the mirror as she got ready to go for school. She thought mockingly to herself that in any other person, the amount of time she spent the mirror would be thought of as vanity. She knew it was not true, even if she did not have to make sure the power she expended to give her this face was in place. It had been a long time, but she remembered the first few times that she had relaxed in her sleep and woke to the hideous face that Kali had given her. It was like the horrible time in the forest all over again. Now, she never relaxed that spell, even in her sleep.

She also understood that the sin of vanity, for women, did not actually exist. Or if it did, it wasn’t due to spending too much time in the mirror but in the pretense that they did not have to spend so much time in front of the mirror. _I woke up like this_ was a blasphemy. To be truly taken seriously, to be truly treated as valuable, you had to look good. It was nasty and stupid, but it was a fact of the world, like mosquitoes and death.

This morning, though, she had something worrying to focus on. She had a new wrinkle. In anyone else, it would have been dismissed as part of getting older, but this was a face she had made for herself. There shouldn’t be anything in it that she had not willed there. She stared at it and willed it to go away, but it wasn’t going away. This was something to be concerned about.

“Ennis,” she hissed, but she didn’t have any more time to worry about it now or she would be late to work. She actually loved teaching; she had chosen this occupation as her cover because the high school was on a juncture of telluric currents and it could protect her, but she had also found that she had a talent and a desire to help expand young minds. If she survived the final confrontation with the Demon Wolf, she would most certainly try to keep teaching. Hopefully she could do it here in Beacon Hills, where she had easy access to power.

As she drove to work, she knew she could not hide it from herself any more. Sacrificing Ennis had been a mistake. She had chosen him as a guardian, but he did not fit the requirements. The magic she was tapping did not appreciate irony. The consequences of a poorly chosen sacrifice were showing in her face. She could do nothing but accept it.

She had hoped that she could use the alphas as the Guardian sacrifices so not only would she be at full strength when she destroyed Deucalion, she wouldn’t have to kill any more innocent people. People might think she was a monster for her actions, but magic didn’t care about humanity’s feeble morality. It wasn’t like anyone else was going to be able to stop the alpha pack. Not the mortal authorities, not the Argents, and certainly not the Hale Pack, though they would surely try. If anyone was going to stop the Demon Wolf’s insanity, it was going to be her. 

She knew she wasn’t a hero. Heroes don’t trade the lives of twelve people for the lives of everyone that the Alpha Pack would destroy in the future. She knew she was doing this to get back at Kali and Deucalion. She would not lie to herself.

Choosing to be an emissary was choosing a life of service. She had been happy working with Kali’s alpha. When that alpha had died, she had been more than happy to help ease Kali into the position. When she had realized Kali’s unhappiness, she had done everything she could to help with that as well, even giving up the objectivity that was a cornerstone of the emissary way. Her reward for this? Mutilation and death. Kali murdered her for freedom; Kali murdered her for power. 

No, she wasn’t a hero. She was justice. She knew that because she was also risking everything that she had gained – her new face, her new life, and her power – not just to hurt Kali but to stop Deucalion. She knew the story behind his blindness; she knew the story behind his errant beta. He was dangerously insane. No one had stopped him, not Alan Deaton, not Talia Hale, no one. He would never be satisfied and he would keep killing people and corrupting alphas until he was stopped. Well, she was certainly going to stop him.

If she had to, she would complete the Guardian sacrifices, and she wouldn’t make the mistake of substituting an inappropriate sacrifice again. There were only three real candidates: the sheriff, Chris Argent, and Derek Hale. She would never choose Derek, but even if she did choose the other two, it would ruin any chance she could have of staying in Beacon Hills. It would ruin any chance she had with Derek. 

She always knew that she has a connection to Derek due to the sacrifice of Paige, but when she returned and began to investigate more, she realized that it was more than that. They both had been betrayed, they both had been destroyed, and they both had managed to recreate themselves. She was more than just grateful to him, she admired him. He was also pretty easy on the eyes. Since she now had the bodyguard she needed in Jackson, she would not approach him until all this was over.

She walked into her classroom and strode to the board. Today, they would be talking about _The Grapes of Wrath_. But then she realized she was not alone.

She turned around. “Miss Morrell. I thought you worked here only two days a week.”

Marin Morrell stood in the corner of the room. “You’re right. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’m a guidance counselor. On Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I’m a therapist. Sometimes, I even teach French. I am an emissary all the time. Today, I am here to see you.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes and let her persona drop. “If you are here to stop me, you should have brought some back up. Maybe an alpha or two.”

“Why would I want to stop you, Julia?” Marin Morrell was very economical in her choice of words. In those eight words, the emissary had communicated that she knew that Jennifer was the Darach, that she knew Jennifer’s history, and that she was offering some sort of truce.

“Because, no matter what you told the others, I know you still act as Deucalion’s emissary.” 

“Someone has to keep a lid on his madness. His pack certainly won’t.” Marin observes. “Lately though, it has been getting harder and harder.”

“May I ask how you figured out it was me?”

“It wasn’t that hard, since I pay attention. Stiles might have the makings of a good emissary, but he needs to work on his composure. I’ve never seen someone so desperate to pretend that they don’t know something.” She gestures to the room. “Once I realized that you had healed Scott, it did not take long.”

“So. Why are you here?”

“The same reason I have for any action I undertake: to maintain the balance. I don’t have the power to stop Deucalion or his alpha pack, and they need to be stopped. You know as well as I do that he will never be satisfied.”

“I am not exactly a servant of the balance, as I am sure you understand.”

“You are right, yet I am not able to stop you either. But you have a perceivable end. You kill Deucalion; you kill Kali, and what happens next? There is a chance that you just stop.”

“Why not rely on your allies? The Hale Pack? The Argents.”

“Gerard Argent decimated his family, and for all their potential, the Hale Pack is made up of teenagers. I’ve seen what you can do; I’ve seen what Deucalion can do. I am willing to take a risk that you are less of a long-term threat than the alphas. I have only one request.”

Jennifer knows what it is before the woman even has to ask. “No more necromancy. You have to understand how much of an advantage a revenant gives me.”

“I know the dangers of breaking the line between life and death. How are you keeping him under control?” Marin sounds impressed.

“A girl has to keep some secrets, Miss Morrell.” As promising as this turn of events could be, Jennifer was not yet ready to give up her other ally. The banshee kept the revenant in control for her, which allowed her the freedom to not worry about the tendency for revenants to violently obsess.

Morrell seemed unsatisfied with the answer, but not dissatisfied enough to push the point. “Be ready. If I see an opening for you to complete your vengeance, I’ll let you know, but with the Demon Wolf, the window won’t last too long.”

Jennifer watched carefully as Morrell left. She wasn’t completely sure if this wasn’t a trap, but she knew that if Morrell was really on Deucalion’s side, she would have gone to the alphas first and she would be dead. She would have to play this carefully.

 

VERNON BOYD:

If he had to name one thing he enjoyed immensely since becoming a werewolf, he would have to say a very fun part of it was driving the Camaro. He had never even imagined getting to drive a car like this. Even if his parents had had a car like this, he couldn’t imagine them letting him drive it. That he could drive it was great. That Derek trusted him enough to let him drive it was even better. He imagined it was like winning a medal at school: _I earned this_.

He would never tell that to anyone. This was just for him.

If he had to name another thing he was enjoying, it was Erica. He hadn’t actually said anything to her or to anyone yet, but he had noticed that she spent a lot of time with him, and, honestly, he wasn’t going to do anything to change that. He had never imagined having a girl as pretty as Erica talk to him, though it wasn’t actually Erica’s sex-bomb attire that he liked. It was her self-assuredness. He had seen her before the bite, where she had almost crawled through life. She never gave up though. Now, with the transformation, she was striding through life. She was still the same person though, only now she seemed to want him to be a part of it. He did not know if she liked him or it was the pack bond; he didn’t care.

He was happy; it seemed weird when people were trying to kill him, but he was. He wasn’t planning on dying; he had something worth living for, worth fighting for. He had a future. He wasn’t going to give that up, and they’d have to tear him to pieces to get him to give up. Derek might not have been the most powerful alpha or the greatest teacher, but he had done by right him. He was so glad he had not taken Kali’s suggestion. She could go fuck herself.

Derek had come to distrust anything that Deucalion and the alphas said, so even though it wasn’t the full moon, he insisted that his pack never be alone, no matter where they were, unless it was absolutely necessary. It was only during school times that this couldn’t be done. If he, Erica, or Isaac had to be alone with their families – and Isaac never had to be with his father anymore, for some reason – then either the Sheriff, Chris Argent, or Derek himself would camp outside. He liked the Sheriff, but the werewolf hunter outside his house unnerved him. Derek explained that Chris Argent was at least able to follow their family’s code, which meant that the Argent’s prime targets were the alphas, who had never hesitated to kill anyone who got in their way.

That was why he was driving to Eichen House today with Erica and Stiles. Their emissary – really their emissary-in-training – was going to visit his friend in the mental facility. Boyd supposed he should care more, but he had never done anything but see Scott McCall in the halls before the whole werewolf thing, and by time he had gotten the bite, McCall was locked in a padded cell. Derek had taken each one of them to see their beta, to make sure they understood the dangers involved in the Bite. Boyd appreciated it, but it was obvious that Derek wasn’t anywhere near a complete psycho like his uncle had been. 

Boyd still couldn’t figure out what to make of Stiles. At times, he could be an annoying little know-it-all with no clue how he came across to other people. But even then, he could tell that Stiles would gladly murder anyone who threatened Boyd. Derek had shared with him that Stiles was having problems with the ‘objectivity’ that Deaton, who had been his mother’s emissary, said was a principle within their order. They were supposed to be allies of the pack, but not part of it. Derek had said that he hadn’t known that Deaton had been his mother’s emissary when they were alive. 

Boyd wasn’t sure that Stiles would be happy with the life of an emissary. When the pack was meeting together, it would start out with Stiles sitting near Derek and trying to listen to the discussion. He would be holding back, trying to maintain the distance that Derek and Deaton had talked about. But as time passed, Stiles would either get fidgety or forget what he was doing and jump right into the conversation. Boyd could tell he wanted to be part of the pack; he thought about suggesting that to him, but Boyd didn’t think it was his place.

All the way to Eichen House, Stiles had been anxious. The smell of it was overwhelming. He had been twisting his cane around and around in his hands. Boyd thought about asking him what was wrong, and he could see Erica staring at him in the back seat, but they hadn’t. They weren’t comfortable with that yet; they weren’t friends. Boyd pulled into the parking lot.

Stiles let out a soft gasp. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. I can’t go see him. What the fuck am I supposed to say?”

Boyd turned and gave him a look. 

“Don’t look at me like that! What am I supposed to say? Hey, Scotty, sorry I haven’t been to visit you for nearly a year, but I’ve had more important things to do?” He gripped the cane so hard his knuckles turned white. “And, hey, remember all those people that Peter killed or made you kill? We blamed it on you to protect our own asses. So, yay, you’re Beacon Hills first native serial killer!”

Erica, who had a lot more feelings for him that Body did, put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, that’s not your fault.”

“It is my fault; it is totally my fault. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” He looked back at her; his eyes were tearing up. “And guess what could be worse? What if he doesn’t remember? Anything? Or he’s only remembering bits and pieces of it. I get to tell him all of it. Hey, see this – you took my leg off; ain’t that great? And I can’t do that. God, what the fuck was I thinking? I can’t _do_ this.” 

Boyd suspect that he was talking about more than just the visit. He never knew what to say in these situations, but he could try. “You haven’t been doing that bad so far.”

Stiles must not have expected him to say anything because he immediately looked at him like he had set off a gun. “Uh. Thanks, Boyd.”

Boyd look at Erica, who was smiling at him. He looked at Stiles who was not so upset. “Tell you what. Today, I’ll go in and look in on him. I’ll tell you what he’s like, okay?” 

Stiles nodded. “I’m sorry for doing this. I thought I could do it. I really did.”

Boyd didn’t say anything more and got out of the car. He wasn’t sure why he volunteered to do this. He told himself that he knew how close Scott and Stiles had been from school and that he knew how it important it was to have friends. 

He signed himself in and met with the orderlies. He was told that Scott was out in the courtyard. Those patients who were behaving themselves were able to enjoy the soon-to-be-Spring days. The orderly did warn him that Scott was on a particularly strong course of medication, so he might not be too lucid.

The courtyard wasn’t much. It was a bit of fenced-in lawn with some benches. Boyd supposed for those who were locked inside the House for years or forever, it was better than nothing. 

Boyd found McCall sitting on a bench in the full view of the sun. His head was resting on the back of it, like he was just absorbing the sunlight. They had shaved his head near to the scalp, but it was beginning to grow out. A woman – older than McCall – sat next to him. McCall’s eyes were closed, but the woman’s was open and watching him.

Boyd stood there. _This was awkward._

The woman touched the side of Scott’s face. It was a strangely intimate gesture. She whispered “Someone is here to see you.” 

The beta opened his eyes; they were glassy. He was drugged pretty heavily. Boyd must have assumed there was wolfsbane mixed with it – if he was fully functional, he could easily get out of this courtyard. “Hi,” Scott said, slowly. “I know you, don’t I?”

Boyd blinked. He knew he had seen McCall around before, but they hadn’t really talked. “Yeah. At school.”

“Oh, good. Sometimes I don’t remember things very clearly.” He looked down at the ground and paused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name. Miss Morrell told me that I’d have trouble with details for a while.”

“It’s Boyd. We didn’t have any classes together. I’m a year older than you.” 

The woman sitting next to him looked up at him, as if studying if he was a threat or not. She had really creepy eyes. 

“Oh, hello, Boyd. This is Meredith. She’s my friend. I met her after I woke up.”

Meredith didn’t seem to want to talk to him. Boyd had to remind himself that she was a mental patient; she probably did not need many social skills. “Well, I was just coming to check on you. See how you were doing.” He nods to Meredith. “It’s good to have friends.”

She startled when he spoke to her but then looked at something else, which Boyd couldn’t see. She creeped him out.

Scott seemed to be working something out. “Thanks. Uhm, but …” He sniffed. “You smell like Stiles.” This agitated him. “Do you know where he is? I haven’t seen him.”

“Yeah. We hang out some times. He’s the guy who sent me to check up on you.” Boyd had no idea if Scott was lucid enough with the drugs and the long time spent feral to pick up his lies. He was going to try to avoid that. 

Scott actually smiled. “Could you ask him to come see me? I miss him.” He looks around. “If he wants to, of course. He might not want to.” The words came in stops and starts, like he was taking time to put them together. “I hurt him.”

Meredith said suddenly: “You didn’t mean to.”

She took hold of his hand and he squeezed it, and Scott continued to talk to Boyd. “I don’t know why I’m saying this to you. I guess … something makes me trust you. I know that sounds weird.”

Boyd knew what it was. He bent down so only those two could hear what he was about to say. “We’re pack, Scott. You joined Derek’s pack while you were … sick.” He put a hand on Scott’s hand. “When you get better and get out of here, we’ll be there.” He knew he was projecting a little, but it had to be hard to be alone after what had happened to him. Boyd suddenly felt good about saying this; it would be good to have the pack to look forward to.

Scott suddenly teared up. “I’m never getting out. They won’t let me out. They know what I did; what he made me do. Thanks, but …”

“You will get out,” Meredith said, suddenly. “But not until it is the right time.”

Boyd stood back up. This Meredith woman seemed determined to freak him out. Scott seemed to listen to her though. “Did you have anything else you needed, Scott?”

“No. Just have Stiles come and see me? If you see him?”

Boyd nodded. He wasn’t sure if Stiles would be able to, given his near panic attack in the car, but he’d certainly try to get him to come.

 

KALI:

Kali completed her sweep of the house, making sure that the windows were locked, the security system was on, and that there were no strange scents in the air. She would do this twice more each night, at staggered times. They had a new adversary whose powers she did not understand and whose motivations were unclear to her.

She was not completely cold; she was upset about Ennis’s death, but not as much as other might think she was. He was a colleague, and he was a good lay, but she had done her grieving and it was time to move on. To tell the truth, right this instant, she was feeling more exhilarated. The possibility of a formidable opponent rather than a gang of helpless teenagers was a lot more enticing to her.

Still, she was not reckless. While more formidable, the Darach was also an unknown quantity. They were powerful and seemingly focused on her pack, but the extent of their abilities were unknown. She would be just as careful as Deucalion was being.

The twins were in their rooms; she wasn’t sure what they were doing. They were beginning to concern her. They were enjoying their missions a little too much. She couldn’t blame them. She knew their stories, and being alphas with power and having found people, even teenagers, who liked them and respected them after their early lives as omegas must be tempting. Still, they could not get sloppy.

She stopped before the room that Deucalion had claimed as his study. She could hear the music coming through the door. It was something classical, which had never really been her cup of tea. When Deucalion was in a mood to contemplate strategy, he would retreat to this room, turn on the music and have some brandy. He couldn’t get drunk, but he liked the taste.

After her knock, she heard the music’s volume diminish which she took as permission to enter. Deucalion was indeed sitting in the dark, contemplating the future. 

“The house is secure,” she announced. Kali knew that he trusted her, but in this way she essentially told him what she wanted to talk about and the steps she was willing to take to get it.

“Sit down, Kali. I’ve been thinking.” He actually poured her a brandy. 

She took it, even though she didn’t really like the taste. While she wasn’t as good as Deucalion at the subtle play of interpersonal relationships, she wasn’t an amateur. She admired his skill at it. She waited for him to continue.

“I have been given some thought to our situation, and I’ve asked Marin to look into a possible solution. This dark druid is an interesting complication, but I think I can manipulate it to our advantage.” 

“You’ve got me listening.”

“It is a simple tactic – a feint. On the next full moon we make a move at Derek’s pack, as everyone expects us to do, but we act in a time and place that, on the surface, would make it look like an advantageous position for the Darach to strike at us. Except our true focus is our new enemy. We can give Derek an extra month …”

“Duke, you know I don’t like trying to tell you how to run your plans, but you should realize by now that Derek is never going to kill his betas to join us. Given his survivor’s guilt, it’s too much to ask.”

“But he’s doing so well, Kali. He’s established his pack and they’re growing with alliances. He’s proving himself to have quite the potential – the same potential his mother developed.” Deucalion sound very pleased with himself. 

“Which makes it all the more unlikely he’ll join us.” She screwed up her face. “But you knew that.”

The Demon Wolf laughed. “I had hoped that Derek would have been so torn up by the fire and his uncle’s recent misadventures that he’d see the power of the Alpha Pack as a way to fix things. It’s unfortunately that he has grown so attached to his betas, even while it is impressive how they are growing. Well, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

“So, the plan is to go with Cora?” Kali suggested.

“Yes. We’ll use our conflict with Derek’s pack to destroy both this Darach and break what remains of the Argents. Once that’s done, we’ll kill Derek’s betas and then I’ll kill Derek personally. Cora will be more than ready to learn how to be an alpha at my feet.”

“You are going to trust Marin to investigation a solution?”

“I use Marin, as she uses me. If I detect the slightest whiff of treachery, I’ll kill her as well.” Deucalion nodded and poured himself more brandy. “And maybe even if I don’t catch a whiff. After all, I think the time of us needing an Emissary draws to its close.”

 

MARIN MORRELL

Marin had Scott McCall in her office. It was time for their weekly meeting, so he had not yet been given the wolfsbane that kept him unfocused and docile. It still wasn’t completely out of his system, so she would not be in much danger and an orderly with a shock rod was just outside the door.

“How are you feeling today, Scott?” She asked. She always started off her interviews with this question to set the ground.

“Okay,” he said sullenly. While the boy had every right to be a little sullen, something was obviously bothering him more than usual. 

Marin reflected on the fact that working with the teen would never be easy. Thanks to Jennifer Blake, Scott was fully recovered from his feral state, but he still had endured a significant amount of physical and emotional trauma. Add that to the fact that he was facing what amounted to a life sentence in Eichen for crimes that he had either committed under duress or hadn’t committed at all, and she could not blame him for being morose.

“I know that things look very difficult for you right now, but we have talked before about what you need to do.”

Scott repeated, dully: “Work on what I can change, not what I can’t.” He toed the floor with his slipper. 

“So, is whatever bothering you today something you can change or something that you can’t change?” She owed it to him to make his stay here as pleasant as possible for as long as she could. It did not matter that she was playing a very, very dangerous game, setting Blake against the Alpha Pack, and that she should be making preparations for that inevitable confrontation. 

“It’s not something I can change. I can’t make people come visit me.” 

Marin carefully gave no response. She was well aware of the fact that only one member of the pack had come to visit him since he had been brought back to himself. It was only understandable. Derek knew that Scott had been healed by the Darach, but he had not yet guessed, as Marin had, that it was because Stiles had asked her to. He was wary of playing into an unknown enemy’s hands. The other betas did not know Scott personally but they knew the story of how he got into this mess. What could they possibly say to him?

“I just don’t know … What do I do now?” He asked directly. Scott had asked this question before and she had always gracefully evaded it. She had redirected him from the truth that ultimately, there was nothing he _could_ do. Eichen House’s protocols for protecting the secrets of the supernatural from getting out into the general populace had been tried and tested since the tragedies of WWII. He did not know this, but in all likelihood, he was never leaving the building.

Marin frowned slightly. “What do you remember?”

She had asked this question before. She told him it was an exercise to help him determine when his memories were coming back, and it was. It was also a way to deflect questions about the future. As she maintained her listening face, she tuned out his words. His therapy was unfortunately immaterial to the situation and to his fate. It was really sad. She had known that Victoria Argent had argued that he be killed as a mercy, rather than face what the future had in store for him. Marin could hardly disagree. 

That is when the answer hits her. She knows how to achieve balance. She knew how to stop both the Alpha Pact and the Darach. The three sides of this conflict have been circling around each other, waiting for the exact right place and time to strike. All three of them understood that if they made the first move without having the advantage, they would be in a very precarious position. So, she had to make each one of them think that they had the advantage, when in truth, none of them did.

She smiled at Scott McCall. It was a practiced smile. She fed him some standard lines to make him think about what he did and what he didn’t do. She let him talk while she calculated.

Marin reflected as the boy goes on that people might consider her cruel, but she had known for at least a decade the rigorous demands of maintaining the balance. Few truly understood what that meant. The world worked as well as it did because opposing forces balanced each other – growth and stasis, good and evil, freedom and order. When one side grew too strong, people got hurt. Thus, like a good acrobat, the balance had to be maintained by shifting things to one side or the other. It took a wise hand, it took a strong hand, and it took a determined hand. 

When she said it took a determine hand, it meant a hand capable of sacrificing other people to maintain the balance. Which was exactly what she was going to do. 

After Scott had been escorted back to his cell in the closed ward, Marin picked up the phone in her office. She turned off the recording device that she used on the phone. There was no one that needed to hear this first call.

“Marin?” Deucalion was such a pompous ass. He always answered the phone with a person’s name, not because he had caller ID (not even he could sense the changes in digital displays), but because he recognized heartbeats and breathing patterns over the phone. 

“Yes. You’ve asked me to think of a way to make the Darach vulnerable. I have come up with a way. On the next full moon, you strike here, at Eichen House, as if you are going after McCall.”

“Please explain how this will be to our benefit.” 

“Eichen House was redesigned to prevent supernatural creatures from escaping, so they could be held. The telluric currents here are disruptive to magic, even as the mountain ash barriers would be damaging to you. You have a reason to come here, but you’d be vulnerable. “

Marin went on. “If she comes after you, she’ll have the advantage to start, but the longer she attempts to wield her power at Eichen House, the harder she will have controlling it. If you can survive her initial onslaught, you’ll have her at a disadvantage.”

Marin spoke with confidence. She knew it wasn’t a lie. “I work there. I can trigger a lock down once you and she are inside. It is not without risk …”

“No, Marin, it is not.” Deucalion was studiously neutral. “However, it has potential. You would be able to let us into the facility, correct?”

Marin understood exactly what Deucalion wanted – commitment from her. She had to be willing to sacrifice her own position in order to earn his trust. 

“I can do that.” She mentally shook her head. The Demon Wolf still had trouble understanding the point of Emissaries and the point of the balance.

“I will certainly let you know if we decide to utilize your plan. How much of a warning do you need?”

“None at all, Deucalion.” If she asked for any warning at all, he would be suspicious. “It’d be easier for me if you give me some warning, but it is not necessary.”

“Very well. Good work, Marin.” He hung up.

Marin had to resist the urge to flip the phone off. The conversation went as all conversations with the Demon Wolf went – he was condescending and suspicious at the same time, while still demanding that she produce results. She had only been able to restrain his more vicious plans by a combination of stalling and obsequiousness.

She had not been lying when she had revealed her plan to Deucalion. She could and she would get the Alpha Pack access to Eichen House. She had already set those plans in motion. She could and she would get them access to the special ward where the supernatural creatures were kept. She also believed that the Darach’s powers would weaken the longer she was on Eichen House’s grounds, as the presence of the telluric currents and the special construction of the facility would disrupt her control of the power she wielded. All the Alpha Pack would need to do was stall for a few minutes.

What Marin knew that she hadn’t told Deucalion was that Jennifer’s pet revenant, Jackson, was tied to Eichen House because one of his anchors was Scott McCall. While Jackson served the Darach in order to have a physical body, he was still a ghost, and he was stronger when his anchor was present. It would no doubt even the odds in the battle. 

Marin wanted the odds as even as possible. She knew that if she triggered a full lock down while either the Alpha Pack or the Darach were on the premises, they could easily get out. But after a full knock-down, drag-out battle? If things went well, the in-patient census would be increased.

She picked up the phone to call Jennifer Blake.

 

STILES STILINSKI

His homework sat before him on the desk. It was mathematics. Or was it economics? Stiles couldn’t bring himself to care about it. 

He had spent the evening with his two oldest friends, Guilt and Anxiety. They had sat down with him when he started doing his homework, but just like old friends were wont to do, they wanted his attention.

Guilt was curious about why Stiles had never visited Scott or even tried to visit Scott after that first aborted attempt with Boyd and Erica. Boyd had told him that Scott was asking about him, how he was unfocused and drugged. Scott would have to be drugged, wouldn’t he? If he was sober and out in the visiting area, he could just walk out. How depressing to know that he’d never feel the wind in his hair without also feeling the soothing rush of pharmaceuticals.

Guilt cocked its head in the reflection of the computer screen. Never?

Stiles started talking to himself because why not? He was presently holding a conversation with the personification of a mental state. “I’m not stupid. I got hold of the court files the moment I could and I read them. He’s committed under the rules for Not Guilty By Reason of Insanity. This means that he is in Eichen until his doctors determine that he is no longer a threat to society, he has served time equivalent for crimes he committed while insane, or until he qualifies for an appropriate out-patient program.”

Guilt motioned for him to go on.

“Since he’s been blamed for all of Peter’s murders and kidnapping along with a host of other minor charges, that’s a life sentence. There is no qualified out-patient program for mind-controlled werewolves. That leaves his doctors’ opinion that he is no longer a threat to society. Does anyone know exactly who the doctors are in charge of making that decision in Eichen House? Because I sure don’t. The adults think they’re pulling on over on us children, but little do they know how resourceful Stiles Stilinski is at torturing himself.”

Guilt pointed out, so very helpfully, that you had the Darach heal him when it was looking like he would never recover from being feral.

“Yeah! Go, Stiles! Instead of being a mindless dog in a cage for the rest of life, he gets to be awake and aware that he is in a cage for the rest of his life. I didn’t really think that one through, did I?”

Guilt asked him, directly, how that explained why he hadn’t visited him. No one had gotten through the whole ordeal at the school unscathed.

Stiles rubbed at the stump in answer. “I have a secret about that as well. Losing my leg sucks. Losing my best friend sucks even more. Because I have -- I know I’ve lost him. An hour every week or two isn’t going to maintain our friendship. But other than that …”

Guilt was getting impatient. 

“Things are actually pretty good. School is pretty good. Dad is pretty good. My work with the pack is good. It’s very good. I’m useful. I’m more than useful. Derek is starting to look to me to get things done. The pack comes to me with their problems. Yeah, I’d like to hang out with people and do more teen stuff, but … I can’t complain.”

Guilt nodded in agreement. You couldn’t bring yourself to visit him because then you’d have to tell him that things were great without him. Stiles Stilinski was a terrible person.

“Tell me something that I don’t know.”

Anxiety scolded him for dwelling so much on the past that he didn’t think about the present. There are so many things that could go wrong. Anxiety wished to be more than helpful and so started to list them.

His pack could learn that he had made a deal with the innocent-people-sacrificing Darach.

Alan Deaton, his mentor, could learn that he had made a deal with the innocent-people sacrificing Darach.

His father could learn that he had made a deal with the innocent-people sacrificing Darach.

The Darach could come to understand that he was vulnerable to blackmail on three different levels and turn him into her bitch.

The Alpha Pack could figure out he must know who the Darach is and turn him into their little bitch.

The Alpha Pack could figure out he must know who the Darach is and hurt his father to turn him into their little bitch.

All these things were just off the top of Anxiety’s head.

The full moon was approaching and he wasn’t anywhere close to figuring out a plan to protect his pack other than gather them all together, lock the doors, and hope that the full moon passed without incident. 

Stiles knew what his problem was. There was nothing to figure out. He knew who the players were. He knew what their motivations were. He knew what they intended to do. There was no mystery to solve. He had no cards to play.

It was at this time that a leader was called for, and he wasn’t a leader. He was the support for the leader and Derek was doing the best he could. His alpha was consulting with Chris and his father every day. He was planning for every contingency, and even for one contingency he had not shared with anyone.

Stiles was sure that Derek was considering running. He was planning on taking his betas and Stiles and getting the hell out of Beacon Hills for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t because he was a coward; it was because he had grown to appreciate his betas as people. He didn’t think he could take on both the Darach and the Alpha Pact, even with them down one member.

Was it irony that the very thing that Derek had done to protect his territory was the very thing that was going to make him leave it? The universe apparently had tons of irony to spare, because this very selfless thing that Derek was contemplating was going to be the one thing that Stiles could not have anything to do with.

Leaving Beacon Hills with the pack meant leaving his father behind. Stiles thought about convincing his father that the time was now to get out while the getting was good, but he did not have much hope of doing that. His father may be willing to bend the law in order to secure justice, but he wasn’t going to abandon the city to a war between an alpha pack and a dark druid. 

Or, and this thought got Stiles really worked up, his father would indeed pack up if he asked him to and high-tail it out of town, give up his career and his duty to protect Beacon Hills citizens to protect his only son. Because then Stiles would be worried after the danger had passed, his father would resent it. His father always claimed that he would do anything in the world for his son, but that was easy to say and another thing to carry through. What if, because they left, the body count of innocent civilians, which up until this time had been twelve, went through the roof? The Darach had not yet selected her Guardians.

On the other hand, his father’s resentment was better than his father being dead.

Leaving Beacon Hills with the pack meant leaving Scott behind as well. He did not wish to dwell on that much, because Guilt was still lying about the room. But, practically, they couldn’t just check Scott out of Eichen House without causing an uproar. He would be an escaped mental patient. The idea behind leaving would be to do it in a way that left the Alpha Pack unsure as to where they had gone. Being the subject of a manhunt was not the way to do that.

So, if they left, Scott would have to remain behind. He would be safe in Eichen House. Probably. Mostly. Stiles worried at his bottom lip. What possible use would he be to the Alpha Pack? Or the Darach? Probably none. Stiles hoped none.

He turned once more to his homework. There weren’t any answers there either.

 

ALLISON ARGENT

Allison drove out to the campground outside. They had rented the whole campground under a variety of assumed names. It would take someone with the resources of the FBI to realize that one family had done this. The Alpha Pack had resources, and she didn’t know what the Darach could do with her abilities, but she knew that they would have to think to look for something like this.

On a quick drive-by, it would look just like any other camp ground with pick-up trucks, SUVs, and campers. It would only be if you looked close enough or hung around long enough that you would see the weapons. Bows, crossbows, knives, guns of every description, even the odd archaic melee weapon. Allison even saw another broadsword.

She parked her car near one the front gate and got out. She was not stealthy; she wanted as many people to see her as she could. This particular campground had a large area in the center that was a common area; many family reunions had been held on this spot. 

She walked to it and sat on tree stump that had been left in the ground purposefully for use as either a chair or a table. She was here to talk, but she wasn’t here as an authority. This would require patience.

The first person to approach her was Abel. He must have been let out of jail. He was the last face she thought she would see.

“Allison.” He stopped coming towards her some ten feet away and crossed his arms. 

She looked straight back at him. “Abel. How are you doing?”

“I’m not in jail.” Abel replied. Allison couldn’t read him; he seemed half-way between angry and welcoming. 

“I’m glad.” She wasn’t lying. She hadn’t wanted any of the hunters that her grandfather had misled into fanaticism to die or even to end up in jail. Abel had just wanted to be a hero. Gerard had used that to twist him into a soldier.

“What are you doing here, Allison?” He challenged. It still wasn’t a mean challenge. 

“I wanted to talk to people here. I know my mother sent out a formal briefing, but I wanted to make myself available, if anyone needed to ask questions about the situation that the briefing didn’t cover.” This was not a lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth. She also wanted to scope out the reinforcements. It had been stressed by Mom and Dad just how fraught with peril this maneuver was. 

Another woman and a man had joined her and Abel. They looked on the surface like unassuming vacationers, but they were trained hunters. Allison could tell in how they moved, how they watched from the corners of their eyes. 

Abel put his hands into his pockets. “You know where the alpha pack lives. You know where two of them go to school. Why haven’t you moved against them?”

Allison bit back a smart response. Abel was still young and he had probably reduced his defeat at Derek’s hands to Allison’s treachery. “Many different reasons. Until you began to arrive, there were five members of the family here – me, my father, my mother, and two allied hunters. That wouldn’t be enough for an alpha, let alone a pack of alphas.” 

The gathering hunters weren’t impressed.

“You’ve read the briefing. We’re balanced between two other opposing forces here. The first group that moves will lose if they don’t score a significant victory,” Allison was quoting her parents, but she agreed with their analysis. “As it stands now, we’re balanced, which means that innocents aren’t dying.” 

She saw the frowns on people’s faces. They were disapproving. “You don’t get it, do you? This is exactly why my mother’s in charge. What’s our goal here?”

“We hunt those who hunt us.” Other hunters were slowly gathering.

“That’s our Code, that’s not our goal. Our goal is to protect people from out-of-control werewolves and other supernatural monsters. The Code guides us toward that goal.” She stood up. “Destabilizing this situation in a rush to kill a murderous werewolf won’t help anything but our own egos. We have the training and the knowledge to make a difference, but all that means nothing if our actions just make things worse.”

“You sound really sure of yourself of a seventeen-year-old girl.” A woman accused from the back.

“I’m eighteen.” Allison wasn’t going to back down from that. “I was held back a year because we moved around a lot. You probably have similar experiences.” Her mother had taught her that when trying to lead, establishing empathy was a requirement. She stood up. “I am sure of myself, because this city – right here – this is my city. This is where I found out who I was. This is where I found out what I can do. I learned from my aunt, and I learned from my grandfather, and I learned from my mother and father. There’s nothing to make me unsure.”

Someone who stood far in the back. “You were dating one of them.”

Allison knew that someone would bring this up. “I dated a boy for three weeks. He was kind and sweet and cute and a little weird. I found out that he was a little weird because he had been bitten a day before I met him by a rogue alpha and had no idea what was happening to him. This alpha drove him feral and turned him into his own personal killing machine. He slashed up my face and now he’s in an asylum.” 

She raised her voice loud enough that everyone could hear her. “He is the reason I am standing before you today. That is why I have embraced the name and the sacred duty of my family. That’s why we asked you here. Because we failed him!” She shouted. “Our family failed him. My aunt burned the Hales alive, both wolf and human, and with no blood on their hands. The sole survivor of the fire we inflicted became a monster that preyed on the innocent, innocent people like that kind boy that took me bowling.”

“We exist to protect the innocent from the monsters. We’re not supposed to create them! Every drop of blood that monster spilled, every drop of blood he made others spill, stains our hands just as much. Peter Hale is dead. He paid for his act. We have not yet paid for ours!” She caught the eye of each one of them. The hero complex that her grandfather had instilled in his soldiers could be used to twist them to his own ends, but she was going to try to use it to do good. 

“In this city, there is a Darach who is killing people and raising the dead. In this city, there is an alpha pack that murders anyone that gets in their way. We can stop them; we have the skills, but we aren’t going to shed innocent blood to do it.” She knows she is giving a speech, but she has to reach them. “I want you to help me save the innocent.”

“Even the Hale pack?” One of the men asked quietly.

“Especially the Hale pack.” Allison challenged back. “They are not valid targets by the Code. The Code is what makes us Hunters and not murderers. My aunt forgot that. My grandfather forgot that. Have you forgotten that?”

There was no round of applause but neither was there total scorn in their eyes. She sat back down. “I hope that explains my motivations sufficiently?”

Allison felt a thrill travel up her sign as she waited for someone to ask her another question. If this was what she was supposed to do, if this was the thing she had been destined for since birth, to be the matriarch of the Argent clan of hunters, then it wasn’t completely a terrible thing. 

What had also made it less terrible is that she knew that if she decided, right then and right now, that this wasn’t the life for her, her parents would back her one-hundred percent. Her mom might be a little disappointed, but she wouldn’t stop from fighting to allow her the freedom to choose her own path. 

But she wasn’t going to leave that path. The last year had tested her, and she had found more meaning in what she had done and what she hadn’t done than anything else in all her life. She wasn’t going to toss that away because it was hard.

The rest of the discussion was tactical. She hoped she hadn’t made any mistakes, but she would take care of them. Allison could do this.

Abel sat down next to her after the crowd began to thin out. She glanced over at him during her discussions with the other hunters. Eventually, it was down to those two.

“So.” He began, lamely. Abel had always been friendly to her at the compound in Washington. 

Allison raised her eyebrows. 

“Did you actually like me?” 

Allison wasn’t prepared for that question. “You’re asking me that?” It was the best deflection she could come up at the time. 

“Yeah.” He didn’t seem to be upset but he also didn’t seem to be bashful. “I figured out, eventually, that you warned the Hale Pack, after I told you what I shouldn’t have.”

“You’re right.” She bit her lip. “It was the right thing to do, and I’m not sorry I did it. I am sorry that my grandfather’s corruption got you sent to jail for …”

“Weapon charges,” Abel shrugged. “Six months in jail. But I’m not asking why you did it. That speech made it pretty clear.” 

Allison was puzzled. “So you are asking me if I liked you?”

“I am asking if it was just a tactic, or if there was a part of you that actually liked me liked me. I know it’s pretty stupid to ask, but I want to know.” 

Allison allowed a small smile. “I don’t think it’s stupid to ask. Yes, I used you, but, if it makes you feel any better, if we were anywhere else, I wouldn’t have said no to going out with you.”

Abel laughed. It was tinged with regret, but it wasn’t entirely false. “Well, that’s a relief. So, after this mess is done, would you consider having dinner with an ex-con?” 

Allison jerked her head back in surprise. “You’d want to go out on a date with me?” 

“I wanted to date you in Washington because you were talented and very pretty,” Abel confesses, scratching at his short red beard. “And now, especially after that speech, there’s even more. I admire you.” 

Allison was touched. His words were strange or maybe they were just strange to her. She didn’t feel that someone had admired her before. People had cared for her. People had liked her. She knew that Scott had loved her. Admiration was something new. 

“I didn’t become a hunter for the paycheck. I became a hunter to do something worthwhile. I followed your grandfather because he seemed so sure that what we were doing was worthwhile. In jail, I figured out that he was just trying to save his own skin.” He shrugged. “You were willing to risk everything to do the right thing. You’re willing to do that now. There are worse people to follow.” 

Allison couldn’t stop herself from blushing. Hey! She was eighteen. “But you want to ask me out to dinner.”

Abel stood up and walked away. “Hey, you’re still really, really pretty.” 

Allison watched him leave. For the first time in a year, she started to think of _after._

 

LYDIA MARTIN

Lydia opened her front door to see Danny Mahealani. She paused; sometimes she wondered if she had a death wish. She knows what is going on in Beacon Hills, and she knows that she is involved and she knows that she is vulnerable. Why wouldn’t she spy through the peephole when people knocked on her door? Why would she just throw open the door to anyone who might be standing there? She was not helpless, but not being helpless did not translate into being to handle everything on her own.

On the other hand, if she was afraid to answer her door in the middle of a Saturday afternoon with the sun pouring down on the street, then what was the point of being here? Lydia should convince her mother to move them to a community with less dangerous inhabitants. She’d rather live her life boldly than hiding behind the door. After all, ignorance hadn’t protected her one little bit.

Since he had been a total dick to her for most of the last year, Lydia decided not to make this visit easy for him. She lifted one eyebrow to signal this clearly. “Good afternoon, Danny.” Her voice indicated her disdain. She fully intended to help him, of course, but only after demonstrating to him how not cool he had been.

“I saw Jackson. Tell me why I would see him.” Danny opened up with a plea packed with desperation.

Lydia faltered immediately. She had been prepared for any contingency but this. Had Jackson changed his mind about letting Danny see him? Was it an accident? “Why don’t you come in?” 

Danny entered her home. He looked unhealthy: tired and sick and wan. Lydia frowned because Danny never looked like that. Danny was happy; he was stable when everyone else was circling the drain. Maybe she should have intervened long before this. Why hadn’t she? Even if he had been annoyingly passive-aggressive, she was still her friend – one of her few true friends from before the madness. 

“Do you want something to drink?” She asked, suddenly less interested in making a point then re-establishing her ties.

Danny shook his head slowly. “I want the truth. Maybe drinking will come later. You aren’t surprised that I saw Jackson.” 

“No.” She led him into the kitchen. They had the house today; her mother was out. She poured herself a glass of apple juice and poured one for him. 

“Are you going to tell me why you aren’t surprised that I saw Jackson?” Danny asked with a mixture of irritation and fear. “Since Jackson is supposed to be dead?”

“That’s because Jackson is dead. You saw his ghost.” Lydia said it plainly. She had decided she was going to tell him anything and everything he wanted to know. “I’m sure you could have figured that out for yourself.”

“Ha.” Danny tried to employ sarcasm but he failed. “Werewolves. Ghosts. Are vampires real too?”

“Not that I know of,” Lydia replied helpfully. “I’m hoping I won’t ever have to find out about it. I’d ask you how you found out, but I am sure it was your boyfriend. I’m sorry I did not tell you but, honestly, it isn’t exactly a secret that makes life more enjoyable. If I had told you that Jackson was haunting us, would you have it made you happier?”

“No.” Danny reached behind him and took a pistol out of the back of his jean. He placed it on the counter. Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t realized it was that bad.

“What was that for?”

Danny stared at the weapon on the counter. “I think I may have been going to threaten you if you tried to lie to me. I don’t know; I just started carrying it when I found out that werewolves were real. It’s my dad’s. They keep it in the house for protection; I doubt they even know its missing.”

Lydia was silent for a long moment as she contemplated this new aspect of her friend. “Whatever. It would not have worked. I’ve had a lot more frightening things come at me than Danny Mahealani with a pistol.” She took a sip of apple juice. 

“I want to know what happened. I need to know what happened. I need to know what is happening.” He eyed her. “And I am sure you know all of those things. The story we got in the papers about Jackson’s death was a lie.”

“Totally and completely,” Lydia said. “I would argue that you don’t really need to know, but since you are dating Ethan, I guess you know enough.” 

“Ethan tells me some things, but he actually doesn’t want me involved. He keeps saying that it’s better for both of us if I don’t know. But I can’t do that. Not after what I saw. What happened in the school? Was it not Scott who killed Jackson?”

“It was,” she sighed, “but it wasn’t.” She went on to tell him about Peter and the terrible night at the school and the events of that semester. She did not leave anything out.

Danny sat there and listened. “You must hate me.” 

“No. Was I disappointed you were being an asshole? Yes. But then, I really couldn’t tell you the truth, could I?” Lydia shook her head. “Would it have made it any better?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe? I would have spent a lot less time hating people who didn’t deserve it.” Danny said bitterly. 

“Danny, and I say this with all kindness, your hatred didn’t mean anything to Scott McCall, any more than my friendship means anything.” Lydia sighed. “That monster reduced him to a snarling, mindless animal in an insane asylum. So I didn’t let some teenage morons gossip about him; I watched him choose to murder strangers rather than be forced to murder me. The scales aren’t balanced; no one had ever done that for me before and now I have two people who have done something like that, and I can’t really help either of them.”

Danny shook his head in disapproval as he spoke. “You can’t beat yourself up for that. You survived, but you can’t blame yourself for not being able to do anything.”

“Scott gave up rather than see me get hurt. Jackson hasn’t moved on for me. But I am not beating myself up. I am being realistic. I have learned as much as I can; I’m not the same person I was before. I have used what they gave me.” She reached out a hand. “And I will keep doing it.”

“Do you have trouble seeing Aiden?” Danny expression told Lydia that he was beginning to have trouble with Ethan. 

“If Ethan hasn’t told you the story of how they came to work for Deucalion, you should make him. I can’t blame Aiden for making the decisions he has. And I know it can’t last. Do you know that?”

Danny sighed. “Ethan doesn’t want me to know things. He thinks I won’t want him around, and I know it’s bad. It’s like dating a criminal. I wouldn’t have known how bad it was if Erica Reyes hadn’t tried to fuck with me.”

Lydia suddenly felt disoriented. “What does Erica have to do with Ethan?” She took another drink of the apple juice to steady herself.

“I thought you knew about this stuff. You mean you don’t know about the war between Derek’s pack and Deucalion’s pack?” Danny asked. “You gave me the impression that you did.”

Lydia’s disorientation continued. Did she know? She should know. She knew about the history of Derek’s pack and who was in it; what she hadn’t learned by simple observation, Allison and Stiles had filled her in. She knew as much as anyone could know about it who wasn’t actually in the pack.

And while Aiden had been reluctant to share any information about his pack with her, he was no match for her wiles. She had put together the number of their pack and the fact that they were far, far more powerful than Derek’s pack. She had comforted him when Ennis had died; it had been the first loss for his pack since he had joined. Aiden hadn’t liked feeling vulnerable after so long.

Yet, the more she tried to focus past the knowledge of who and what they were, the whys seemed to be blocked to her. She suddenly couldn’t remember why Aiden’s pack was in town, and she certainly couldn’t tell what their relationship with the Hale Pack was. This was basic information. Allison, Stiles, and Aiden would all have told her something.

Danny had gotten up with concern written across his face. “Lydia? What’s happening? Are you all right.”

Lydia felt the room beginning to recede. Was she fainting? But she didn’t feel weak. She felt her hands reach out and snag the gun Danny had brought off the table. She watched through darkening vision as she pointed it at Danny, a smile that wasn’t hers spreading across her lips. 

Her mouth formed words that weren’t hers. “Typical. I knew eventually someone would push things when I couldn’t be in control fast enough. Usually, I’d just let it slip, but you’re too close to the twins, young man, and that won’t do at all.”

It was her voice, but not her words. Peter. 

“Who are you?” Danny demanded backing away from the table. 

The last thing that Lydia remember was lifting the gun to point it right at Danny’s chest. 

 

ISAAC LAHEY

Isaac congratulated himself on his skill at moving silently. He had picked up a lot in his time as a werewolf, and he was going to use it. His ears were sharp enough to mark each person who was still at the high school. He wasn’t supposed to be here after hours; he had no extracurricular activities to justify being there. He could possibly bluff his way past a teacher, but a much better plan would be not to get caught.

The school board did not see the point of locking the classrooms, so he didn’t have any trouble getting into the one he wanted. He wasn’t surprised that there was no smell of blood and no sign of damage. It had been weeks since his fight with Ennis. 

He admitted to himself that it wasn’t actually a fight; it was more like a grade-a ass whipping. Ennis was really, really big, okay?

Isaac left the spot where the beat down occurred and moved to the desk, opening the top drawer. He had promised himself that he was going to get to the bottom of this unless someone he cared about stopped him. With so few people in the school, he would be able to hear almost anyone coming down the hallway before they got here. He had plenty of time to investigate.

He had went through the top center drawer completely when he hears approaching footsteps in the hall. It wasn’t someone dangerous, but it wasn’t someone he wanted to talk with right now. Isaac thought about closing the drawer, pretending he wasn’t doing what he was doing, and coming up with some believable lie. He shut that ideal own. This was about doing what was right for the pack. He opened the top drawer on the left hand side. It’s filled with graded papers; even if Miss Blake was what Isaac though she was, she cared about her mundane job. He placed them in neat stacks on the desk.

Stiles entered the classroom. His face is locked in a frown that perhaps would have been intimidating if the scent of anxiety wasn’t pouring off of him. Isaac could tell his gait anywhere from the cane and the artificial leg, but he knew that scent even better. “Isaac …” He started, sighed, and then opened his mouth to start again.

“You’re our emissary. You offer advice; you don’t give orders.” Isaac observed dryly. “So if you are going to try to scold me, you can just shut up.”

Stiles’ frown wavered but Isaac could smell his anxiety dissipating. He was getting angry. “My advice then is …”

Isaac interrupted him with a snort and started looking through the papers. “I need to find out if Miss Blake is the Darach.”

“My advice,” Stiles continued, pissed that he was interrupted, “is for you to follow your alpha’s orders and not wander around school at night alone when we don’t actually know who the Darach is or what the alphas are doing.”

“I’m not alone,” Isaac could be just as pissy. “You’re with me.”

Stiles just stared at him as if willing him to catch on fire. Isaac went through the papers and put them away, starting on the next drawer down.

“I thought you were going to trust me, Isaac.” Stiles changed tactics.

Isaac rooted through the drawer. “I do trust you. I don’t know why you won’t tell us who the Darach is, but that doesn’t mean that I should stop looking for her. I’ve thought about it a lot. She was here for detention. Ennis was here to kill me. I’m still here. Miss Blake is still here. Ennis has vanished into nothingness. Don’t worry, Stiles. If I find proof that Miss Blake is the Darach, I don’t even have to mention your name at all. Not that it will stop people from figuring it out.”

Stiles walked through the classroom and sat down at one of the desks in the front row. He watched Isaac but did not make a move to help. 

Isaac slammed one of the drawer’s shut with some force. “You didn’t think that one through, did you?” Stiles startled when Isaac did it because he has shut the drawer with so much force that the desk shifted.

“Did you think that the pack wouldn’t figure it out? That Derek wouldn’t figure it out? The only reason he hasn’t figured it out is because I begged off talking about the fight with Ennis until he had other things to think about. You put me into the position of lying to Derek. I didn’t think I could lie to him, but I am doing it, for you. You’re so smart for tricking us, but what you are really doing is letting the Darach just do whatever she damn well pleases.”

Stiles glared at him, but then sagged into the desk when it seemed that Isaac wouldn’t cooperate by spontaneously combusting. “What do you think happened? You think I just decided to look up the Darach in the secret Druid handbook and say ‘Girl, let’s go get our nails done together?’ I was looking for you. You were unconscious, Isaac, and she had just killed Ennis. Ennis – you know the ‘Roid-Rage Alpha?”

“I’m familiar,” Isaac replied with a sneer. “So, I want you to tell me that you made a deal to protect the Darach’s identity for me.”

“What?” Stiles’ face curls in offense.

“Say it. Because I don’t think that you’d do that just to save me.” Isaac said it simply. He had no doubt that Stiles would help him; he had helped him. He just didn’t think that he’d risk the entire pack for him, which this was no doubt doing.

Stiles’ face went cold with furor. “Now, I wish I hadn’t.” 

“Lie.” Isaac retorted.

Stiles spoke clearly and coldly. “Listen to my heartbeat. I made a deal with the Darach to save you, Isaac.” 

“Lie.” Isaac retorted once again. It was a total bluff, but he knew that Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat. “You did, but that’s not the only thing you got. Tell me what that was.” 

Stiles opened his mouth to lie and then closed it with a jaw-clicking snap.

“Fine. I’ll just go to Derek with my suspicions.” Isaac sad nonchalantly. “If you wait here until I’m finished going through these drawers, you can come with me.” He bent down. 

“Scott.” Stiles snapped. 

Isaac may not have been as perceptive and intuitive as Stiles, as brilliant as Lydia, as knowledgeable as Deaton or Derek, or as practical as Boyd, but he knew how to use a calendar. “You made a deal with her to heal Scott’s mind. You and Deaton couldn’t do it, but she could. With her … what, black magic?”

Stiles shrugged. “You wanted the truth. You got it. I’m not sorry.” 

“Lie.” Isaac stood up. There was really nothing more to be said, and no more reason to stay. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Stiles nearly falls over getting out of the desk he sat down at. He wasn’t coordinated before losing his leg; he’s not that coordinated afterwards. “What?”

Isaac tilted his head to one side. For all his supposed perception, Stiles could be slow on the uptake when it came to how people felt about him. “You heard me. You’re jeep’s still here, right?” Isaac had always wanted someone to risk everything for him. He hadn’t gotten it yet, but even being adjacent to someone who would do that was good enough. “We should get moving.”

Stiles gaped at him as he followed him out the door. “You’re going to explain that?”

“Do I need to explain it? You just showed me that while you are a selfish, arrogant asshole, you can still be a decent guy if you put your mind to it.” It was definitely the truth. Stiles seldom thought about the consequences of his actions beyond what it meant for the people he cared about. That made him selfish. To Isaac, Stiles always acted as if he could either kill you without thinking or risk his entire soul to save you, depending on how much liked you.

Stiles muttered. “Thanks. I _think_.” 

 

ERICA REYES

“I am just saying, Boyd, that it is the weirdest thing,” Erica began once again. They were walking down the hallway towards the exit at the end of the school day. They were hand-in-hand and it should have been twee and awkward and stupid to her, but it wasn’t. She barely thought anything about it but how warm his hand was. It was Thursday and it should have been a nice day, but the full moon was on Saturday and so her grip had a little desperation to it. Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Stiles were planning to leave right after school the next day and get lost in San Francisco while Derek, the Sheriff, and the hunters dealt with the alphas. Derek had finally come to a decision when they still didn’t know the Darach’s identity and they still didn’t know how the Alphas were going to act on the full moon. All they knew is that they were targets and, as Mr. Miyagi in The Karate Kid said, the best block is “Not Be There!” 

“It ain’t weird.” Boyd repeated again with an easy certainty. Erica smiled; he had such faith in her.

“You keep saying that, but the fact that we’re being targeted by a pack of evil alphas and my grades are better than they’ve ever been before is very, very weird.” It was true. She was doing fantastic in school. She wasn’t at the top of the class, but her mother was actually very proud of her. 

Boyd looked at her fondly. “Can I say something without you getting upset?’

“Probably not, but I’ll forgive you.” She winked at him. Erica meant it though. He may have been the best thing about being a werewolf. Erica amended herself – he was one of the best things. 

“You’re doing better because you’re not feeling sorry for yourself. People are coming at you because you’re a threat. They’re coming at you because of your power. You aren’t sick.” He shrugged as if to say that he understood. “What’s a little thing like homework?”

“I’m not mad.” She swung their hands like some stupid teen movie couple. “You’re right, I guess. Things are scary right now, but I’ve got hope. No one’s going to take that away from me.” 

Boyd’s smile dazzled her with its sincerity. Erica didn’t think at that moment that there was anything that could bring her mood down. She retained her mood even after one half of the Alpha twins stepped in front of them from around a corner, looking like he wanted to murder them. If it was a fight he wanted, he was about to get one hell of a fight from her.

Ethan’s chest was heaving and his fists were clenched, like he was having trouble maintaining control. “We can either do this right now in front of everyone, or we can wait ten minutes until the school is empty. You reach for a cellphone and I’ll tear your arm off. Someone comes to your aid and I’ll kill them first.”

Erica looked over to Boyd. He was nervous, but he wasn’t going to bolt. “We can wait.” Derek’s second exuded confidence and poise. 

Erica smiled nastily as Ethan. “I thought you were supposed to wait until the full moon? Aren’t you going to get into trouble?”

It took Ethan a few seconds to regain enough composure to speak. Erica hadn’t seen anyone this freaked out since it had been Boyd and Isaac on their first full moon. She was amazed he hadn’t transformed at all. “This isn’t about Deucalion’s plans. I’m not here to kill you unless you try something stupid or you’ve done something stupid.”

Boyd posture changed slightly; he was getting ready for a fight. People were still filing out of the school. Erica realized that to everyone else, it looked as if a senior was facing two juniors in the hallway for an intense but non-violent confrontation. “So what _is_ it about?”

“After everyone is gone, you’re going to take me to Danny, or I’m going to beat the hell out of you until you do so. If you push me, I’ll rip her throat out.” Ethan growled to emphasize his demand. 

Erica looked at Ethan and then at Boyd and then burst out laughing. This provoked the alpha, but she didn’t care. The angrier he was, the more likely he would be to make a mistake. 

“Why the fuck do you think we have Danny? As if we give a fuck about your love life!” She spat. “We’ve known him a lot longer than you have.” Well, she’s known _about_ him. They didn’t exactly travel in the same circles _ever_.

“He’s been missing for two days. You’re expecting me to believe it is a coincidence that he’s missing right before the full moon?” Ethan seemed to be able to control himself better now that he had someone towards which he could point his anger. 

“No. It’s not.” Boyd said quietly and with just a hint of compassion. Erica nearly did a double take. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Ethan’ rage seemed to fizzle out. He hadn’t been expecting denials, Erica realized. He had been expecting violence. She looked toward Boyd to see what his next move was.  
“But you also know that we have no reason to hurt Danny let alone take him,” Boyd reasoned. “We want you to go. We want to be left alone. How does taking Danny help us?”

Ethan suddenly couldn’t look at Boyd, and it was not because Boyd is intimidating him or he had more power. Ethan was an alpha – stronger, faster, better – and an alpha trained to kill. He could probably take two newbie betas without breaking a sweat, even without his brother. He could not look at him because he knew what Boyd was saying was the truth.

He offered a weak excuse. “Maybe you think it’ll stop me from attacking.”

Erica snorted. She might be a hot bitch now, but she knows when people are grasping for excuses. “Right. You’re all alphas who murdered your own packs. You won’t try to kill us because of your human cum rag.”

Ethan snarled at her then. She did have a talent for pressing it too hard, she realized. It came from all the times she couldn’t press at all.

“She shouldn’t have said that,” Boyd breaks in that clear and reasonable voice, “but it doesn’t make what she said false. We’re not the ones killing people …”

“He’s not a sacrifice,” Ethan exclaims. “He’s not a guardian.” 

Erica bit her tongue. She didn’t know why she wanted to be mean to Ethan. Well, she did, but she doesn’t know why it continued to surge up in her like the full moon. She watched him try to avoid what Boyd was leading him to. 

Boyd continued on his calm voice. “No. Probably not. But there is someone who might see him as an obstacle, isn’t there? Someone who wants your mind focused on the Darach and on us.” 

Ethan’s face turns into a mask of furious denial. It’s obvious what Boyd was trying to say, and Ethan was trying desperately not to hear it. “You’ve never heard of starving lions to get them to be more vicious?” She demanded. “You were all ready to tear us apart without proof.”

Erica realized at the slump of the alpha’s shoulders why she couldn’t stop needling him. He was powerful – so powerful – and he was yet so helpless. She despised helplessness; she had always despised being helpless.

Ethan looked away from both of them. The hallway was empty. If he wanted to start something violent, he could do it right now and not worry about it. “Would you … I know you don’t have any reason to help me, but if you see him, would you …”

“We will.” Boyd nodded immediately. “He’s a bystander here.” He actually glances over at her. He wanted her to support him? 

“Yeah.” Erica might as well do it.

Ethan turned to go. Erica could see him throws his shoulders back and straighten his spine. _You can’t fool me, alpha. I’ve seen your weakness._

Ethan stopped about five feet from them but did not turn around. “I just wanted something normal.” 

Neither she nor Boyd say anything. Erica laughed internally. She had had normal, and it sucked.

“McCall.” Ethan spoke with a forced whisper and then walked off. 

It took Erica a moment to puzzle it out. Ethan had just told them who the target was for this full moon. She glanced over to Boyd and he nodded. 

“We have to tell Derek.” 

 

NOAH STILINSKI

“This ends tonight.” The sheriff swung his pointing finger so it included the four people standing around the dead body. “I don’t care what you have to do, but this is the last goddamn dead teenager I get to look at. If it doesn’t end tonight, I’ll bring in the National Guard if I have to.”

Noah knew he sounded like he was blaming the people across from him, but he really wasn’t. He was a police officer with many years of experience. Murderers and criminals existed in the human world just as much as they existed in the supernatural world. The four people standing in the room had done their best.

Their best hadn’t saved Danny Mahealani. He was in the morgue, shot to death with his father’s own gun. 

Deaton looked like he wished to say something but he was uncertain on how to say it. Which meant that he looked completely normal save for his fingers tapping on the edge of the morgue drawer. 

“Alan. Now is not the time to hold back. I don’t care how reluctant you are to share what you know. Speak, God damn it.” The sheriff encouraged him to start.

“It’s not that,” replied the veterinarian. “This boy’s death doesn’t fit. It doesn’t make any sense to me.” He glanced at the others. “It’s disturbing. My sister’s behavior is also disturbing.”

Victoria Argent spoke from her position next to her husband. Noah thought she was the most callous person he had ever met. “Alan, we don’t need to know the exact motivation. Whoever was responsible wanted to make an unstable situation even more unstable. This boy had connections to each faction. I don’t think any one of us can predict what’s going to happen when this news becomes public.” 

“All the more reason to end this mess tonight.” The sheriff considered the dead senior. “Lydia’s friend, Jackson’s best friend, and Ethan’s boyfriend. Who benefits from his death?” 

Alan Deaton shook his head. “I think the exact motivation must be important, Victoria. They used a gun. It muddies the waters.” 

Derek sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I know what my pack will think. Ethan was willing to go against Deucalion to find information on him. That tells me that when Ethan discovers Danny’s dead, he’s not going to stop waiting. He’s going to be out for blood.”

The sheriff sighed and looked at Chris, who didn’t say anything and didn’t even react. “Okay. Are the kids away?”

“They called me when they got to the motel last night. I don’t know which city or even which direction, but they’re at least one hundred miles away. We don’t have to worry about them.” Derek stated with some relief. “Thank God. Stiles is texting me every two hours with status reports.”

Noah sighed. “How the hell did you get him to leave? We fought for hours over him leaving for tonight.”

“I may have convinced him that I need him to make sure my Betas were safe. Which is true, but I also needed him to be safe.” 

The sheriff saw Victoria frown out of the corner of his eye. “Allison could have gone with them.”

“Allison,” Victoria had wiped the frown away, “has her own duties to attend to.”

Alan Deaton pushed the morgue drawer shut. “We should go over the plan one more time. We only have a few hours before sunset.”  
Chris Argent replied, a little exasperated. “The plan is pretty simple. Three groups. First group – Derek, Alan, and I will be inside Eichen House. We’ll protect Scott and hopefully use the House’s own defenses to contain both the Darach and the Alphas.” 

Noah Stilinski was going to have words about Eichen House with someone. The idea that there was a mental health facility which could secretly contain supernaturals should have been told to him immediately. It implied that there was part of the government that knew about this. 

“Victoria and Allison will be with the hunters on the outside. Once we identify the Darach, they’ll prevent the fight from spilling outside the facility.” 

Noah didn’t like this, because the unspoken truth was that they’d destroy them. Never-the-less, he had to put the safety of his city first. No more dead children.

“Sheriff, I know it is going to be hard, but we need to keep the mundane authorities out of this. We need you on top of that.”

Noah acknowledged Chris’s please. It made sense, even though it made him uncomfortable. Everyone in this room wanted not only to win but also to live after the victory and live in this town. That was why he worked with them – because they cared how this place would be after they left it. 

The sheriff looked around the room. “Let’s get this done. No more innocents die.”

 

STILES STILINSKI

It was very important to Stiles Stilinski that he could drive the Camaro. It was probably going to be one of the last things he was ever going to do, because if he wasn’t driving into the middle of a death-filled battle to the end, his own pack was going to rip him limb from limb. 

Derek had two reasons he was going to kill him. First, he had driven the Camaro over a hundred miles without ever having driven a car with his artificial leg. Derek had matured a lot in the time Stiles had known him, but the Camaro was something special to him. He had seen the look in the alpha’s eyes when he had given Boyd the car keys.

Boyd was going to kill him for taking that car. Boyd took his responsibilities to Derek pretty seriously and had sworn that he would return it safe. Stiles was driving anything but safely.

All the betas were going to be pretty pissed with him. He had pretty much played them for fools. While they had been asleep, he had liberated their cell phones. Then he had surrounded the room with mountain ash. It had been slow and difficult work; he’d nearly woken Erica up twice. Now they weren’t going to be able to call out to warn Derek what he was doing – he had broken the motel room’s phone – and they weren’t going to be able to leave the room to find another phone. 

His first task had been getting enough provisions to keep them fed over the weekend, just in case everything went to shit. He knew that eventually maid service would knock on the door and could break the mountain ash line. That was a worst-case scenario though, because he and Derek would drive back up after things were resolved and let them out.

Stiles could not do it. He could not sit in a motel room one hundred miles away while the alpha pack went after Scott some place where he couldn’t run away from. He had argued with his father for hours, but his father just didn’t get it. It wasn’t just guilt that motivated him. Yes, Stiles felt responsible for Scott getting bitten in the first place, and yes, Stiles felt guilty because he hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit Scott at Eichen House after he had bargained with Jennifer to restore Scott’s mind. But it wasn’t just that. 

It was love. He’d realized it when he was driving up with the others. Stiles knew that Derek and his father and Dr. Deaton would do anything and everything they could to protect Scott when the alphas came. He wasn’t as sure of the Argents. Yet for all that assurance, he knew that it was not written in stone that they would be able to protect him. He’d seen what alphas could do; it wouldn’t take a minute if one of them got past the others.

Stiles had to be there, no matter what the outcome. He had forgotten what Scott meant to him, lost in the weeds of guilt and purpose, confused by his own fears. He’d let his own feelings obscure what he knew to be true. He had to be there, and it was about more than duty. His father, his alpha, and his pack would simply have to understand that.

He had managed to get back to the city without crashing the car, which was a good thing. He hadn’t practiced driving with the artificial leg much so it had been a terrifying ride back. Stiles looked over his inventory: mountain ash, combat knife, and a mini tool kit. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t expect to take on alpha werewolves by himself. He could, however, protect himself and Scott with a mountain ash barrier. 

The first trick was getting to Eichen House without Derek, his father, his father’s deputies, Deaton, Allison, or Chris catching him. Any one of them would demand to know what he was doing there and he would never even get close. Victoria was the exception, because he knew she still had her secret weapon in his leg. She’d help him with the next part – getting into Eichen.

Stiles texted her. Like most adults older than thirty, she found texting to be awkward. It took five minutes for her to respond, literally ignoring how texts were supposed to work. 

SS: In town. Need to get in Eichen. Can u help?

VA: Give me a moment.

That was totally Victoria Argent. Her first response was not going to be to quiz him on the state of Derek’s pack. While she would never hunt them without cause, not anymore, that didn’t mean she gave a damn about them. Stiles had learned through both talking with his father and personal observation of her that she saw werewolves as either problems or targets. 

Right now, it suited him just fine. Well, it would have suited him if he wasn’t waiting for an interminably long fifteen minutes for her ‘moment.’ Patience was a virtue he had only began to cultivate.

His phone rang and he snapped it open. He was about to launch into a tirade about time being wasted, but he thought better of it. “Hello.”

“Mr. Stilinski,” said Victoria. “I am glad to hear from you. I don’t have much time, so let me be as succinct as possible. You have thirty minutes to get to the service entrance of the facility.”

“I can be there.” He had made it a point to know the general layout of the place. 

“I have had an individual on retainer ever since your friend was place in Eichen House. He gives me information and does little tasks for me. He’s not a very pleasant man, but he is easily bribed. He will let you in if you are there within a five-minute window. You must go soon; no doubt the place will be put on lockdown once the fighting starts.” 

“If you’re outside, are you still able to trigger the you-know-what?” Stiles subconsciously patted his prosthesis which contained the secret stash of wolfs bane in aerosol form. 

“I can, but it will be hard for me to know when to trigger it.” Victoria never hid details. 

“I get close to the alphas, I’ll text you ‘go’ twice. That’ll be your cue.” 

“I’ll be ready. Be safe, emissary.” She hung up the phone before he had a chance to reply.

“Lovely talking to you as well.” He liked Allison a lot better than her mother. Stiles understood that Victoria always had her eyes on the greater good. She could care less about him because he had sided with the wolves; her thought would always be focused on protecting humanity and her family.

He drove the Camaro to an ally only two blocks from Eichen House. It had to be far enough away that no one would find it soon, while close enough to minimize the time he needed to walk from the car to the back entrance. 

Stiles moved as fast as his leg could carry him, and he got to the receiving dock of the facility maybe an hour before moonrise. The man waiting for him was tall and radiated a mixture of contempt and arrogance. His name badge said ‘Brunski.’

“I was wondering why you were taking so long. I was thirty seconds from leaving.” The man sneered.

“Well, I’m really glad you waited,” Stiles responded, biting his tongue. He needed to get inside, not antagonize the help. If this worked, he’d have plenty of time to make fun of this ox. With no more words to exchange, they headed inside.

 

AIDEN 

The pack was assembling in the foyer of the house they had rented. They were getting ready to go to Eichen House for whatever plan that Deucalion had cooked up for tonight. He hadn’t bothered to tell them anything but ‘stick near him.’ He would do that anyway, but Aiden really wanted to be treated a little better than he had been.

Deucalion and Kali had kept their cards to close to their chests since Ennis died. Deucalion had been thoughtful and had spent a lot of time talking to contacts who owed him information. Kali had been security-minded; one could call it protective, but Aiden had never seen her remotely caring. 

Then there was Ethan. Since Danny’s disappearance he had been surly and suspicious, even of him. That was the one thing he hadn’t been prepared for. His brother had always been there for him, even when they irritated each other. 

Aiden didn’t feel comfortable going into this fight. Their pack hadn’t been arrogant, but they had been confident. Tonight, they were grim. Even Deucalion.

Aiden bounced on his feet, hoping to get this over with, but he suddenly startled the entire pack when his phone rang. He pulled it out and it was Lydia. He looked sheepishly at the rest of them. “Excuse me.” 

Lydia sounded breathless and upset when he answered. He tried to explain that he was busy when she burst out. “What the hell is a Darach?”

The shout was loud enough that every werewolf heard it. Aiden felt embarrassed. He never talked about what was going on with her, but he did not want to lie to her. “What do you mean, Lydia?” That was a good evasion.

“I suddenly am hearing this chanting everywhere and I suddenly understand this word, and I am getting visions, and it is seriously freaking me out. Can you come over?” 

Aiden wanted to. On any other night, he would have, but they were about to go kill the very same Darach. 

Deucalion whispered so he could hear. “Lydia Martin survived the bite of an alpha but did not change. This could be significant. Go to her, and let us know. Then join us at Eichen House.”

Aiden offers the Demon Wolf a relieved smile and then nearly slapped himself in the face. He could be so dumb sometimes. Blind. “I can be at your house in ten minutes, Lydia. If you are there, stay there.”

Lydia let him go without any further fuss. Kali was smirking at him, and his brother was suddenly worried. Deucalion was calm. 

“Won’t you need me there?” Aiden asked carefully. 

“Possibly, but considering we still don’t know everything about our opponent, information is more vital than numbers. Ethan and your combined form is powerful, but you’ll find I can more than compensate. I’m not sitting this one out. Hurry, please.” 

“Yes, sir.” He turned to Ethan. “I’ll be there soon enough. Don’t worry.” They always went into battle together. This would be the first time that they were separate. He couldn’t help but be nervous, but he wasn’t wanting to disappoint Lydia or Deucalion.

The drive to Lydia’s house was quick, he knew it well enough. Aiden couldn’t help but be happy that Lydia called him first when something strange happened. He had known for a long time that she had made him feel good about himself. If this was the first sign that she trusted him, that she saw him more as a boyfriend.

No lights were on at the Martin house – even Lydia’s room. While it wasn’t strange for Ms. Martin to be away for the evening, there were usually lights burning. He pulled around back, his fear dying as he saw dim light and smelled fragrant candles.

The back door was unlocked, as it usually was when he came over. “Lydia?” He could her heartbeat, and he knows her scent. She was waiting for him in the dark. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just fine.” Lydia emerged from the darkness in a casual dress with a cardigan. “Thanks for coming. Anyone come with you?”

“No. They’re all busy. I should be with them.” Aiden went up to her. “What do you know?”

Lydia suddenly seemed coy. “I know a lot more than I might have told you.” Her heartbeat was steady. “But there is something I have to _show_ you. It’s really important.”

“I don’t really have time –“

“You need to see this. It’s in the attic.” She started walking up the stair. “I told you about that werewolf biting me?”

“Not much about it.” The fact that nothing hand happened to her was one of the reasons he had been assigned to it. “You’ve been pretty private.”

“I didn’t actually lie to you, I just didn’t say anything to you.” She had the descending ladder pulled down, walking up to it. “I seem to be able to interact with the dead and the dying.”

Aiden frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He followed up the ladder. 

“The truth is, Aiden, that I’ve been interacting with a few dead people,” Lydia replied as she stood at the top of the stairs. “And one of them has been really trying to fix that.” 

Aiden got up to the ladder. He was surprised at the chalk circles drawn on the floor and the mirrors. “What?”

“I said that one of them was trying to fix that.” She looked straight at him. “Honestly, haven’t you figured out that is why you’re here now?” 

Aiden never saw the dust she blew into his face. He didn’t even have time to register what had happened.

 

JENNIFER:

The nexus of ley lines that lie nested under Eichen House was far different than the gigantic knot beneath the Nemeton. It certainly made Jennifer’s body hum with excitement and power, but it was of such a different flavor that it concerned her just a little bit.

The Nemeton’s power reeked of nature despoiled. She wished she could have experienced it when it was whole, because that would have been truly and breathtakingly beautiful. Now the flow of power, damaged by whatever wanton had chopped down the tree, was tinged with rage and regret. It resonated with her and her task. 

Eichen House was far less powerful than the Nemeton, but the power here was far darker, far more twisted. Jennifer didn’t know what horrific events had happened here, but whatever they were, they had contaminated the telluric currents at their very base. It was poisonous and constrained -- a prison for the soul as much as the body. Only the truly innocent or the truly focused could operate here and not be poisoned by its malevolence. It sickened her a little bit.

It would be useful tonight. Her plan was simple. Marin Morrell would let her and Jackson into the place, and she would use the defenses of the place to isolate and eliminate the alphas, one by one. Given Jackson’s power as a revenant, it shouldn’t be hard at all. And this meant she wouldn’t have to complete the Guardian sacrifices.

There were only three real candidates for the Guardian sacrifices – Sheriff Stilinski, Victoria Argent, and Derek Hale. They were the heads of their respective families and crucial to the conflict as it played out. Her mistake was Ennis was the idea that she could use an alpha that had betrayed their own pack. 

She just didn’t want to do it. Sure, sacrificing Victoria Argent would be relatively easy, but the entire hunter community would be up in arms about it. She’d never have a moment’s peace. Sheriff Stilinski had once been Deputy Stilinski, and she was grateful to him for finding her. But the real problem was Derek Hale. She owed him so much and the more she studied him, the more she desired him. 

‘After’ was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Marin was waiting at the door to let them in. Her demeanor was calm. Jennifer knew it would be; she’d been trained the same way to keep her emotions off her face and out of her scent. It had helped her conceal her nature, though the training had been intended to help her advise her pack without letting her own emotions get in the way.

“They will be arriving in a little under a half-hour,” the other emissary stated without emotion. “Don’t tell me your plans.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Jennifer replied. If Marin was sincere in her desire to help, then not telling her their plans protected her from being interrogated. If Marin was leading them into a trap, then not telling her their plans protected them. Behind her, she could hear Jackson snort.

Once they were in, Marin dropped a key card on the ground and walked away. Jennifer snatched it up. Deaton’s little sister was very good at maintaining plausible deniability. She waited until they were gone. 

“So what’s the plan?” The revenant was eager for violence; Jennifer saw the signs that she had researched. No matter how good or evil the original spirit had been, enforced presence on the earth would lead to madness and destruction. She would have to convince the banshee to send him on soon enough.

“I think you should pay your friend a visit, Jackson. Scott is still your anchor; while you are in his presence at you are your highest level of power.” She explained, following the directions she’d been given. “Since our targets are going after him, all you have to do is wait.”

“Where will you be?” Jackson flexed his arms.

“Concealed nearby. Hopefully, I’ll be able to slam the gate shut, which will separate the pack. Easier pickings for both of us.”

“Don’t make it too easy,” Jackson grated. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

 _I just bet you have_. Jennifer smiled reassuringly. “You’ll get everything you need.” 

Jennifer had learned that Scott McCall’s cell was on the sixth floor which was dedicated to unusual patients. She had learned that while the violent supernaturals were contained in the Closed Ward on that floor, those supernaturals who could be trusted not to hurt themselves or others were given more normal accommodations. After she had healed his mind, McCall had been placed in the unrestricted ward. Jennifer smirked sourly. That meant that the administration knew the truth and had taken the path of expediency. 

That was the way of the world. They took the easy path and let others bare the cost. She chose the path of sacrifice. She wished it worked another way, but it was absolutely necessary. 

 

VICTORIA ARGENT

There was always a certain calm after the planning stages were done, after the pieces had been moved into position, but before the actual operation began, that appealed to Victoria. She remember being on a roller coaster when she was a child. Before the big, exciting drops, there were the inclines, where the cars were brought up slowly to the top before they roared down the other side. The excitement was enjoyable then, as far too often the plunge was nothing but shaking adrenaline. 

She’d get this done. She wasn’t even started by the tap on the window. It was the sheriff. She rolled down the window. “This isn’t where you are supposed to be.”

“Good evening to you, too, Victoria.” The sheriff snarked right back at her. “Forgive me if I wanted to do a drive by.”

“Your presence here could interfere with our plans.” She frowned. “It’s why God invented cell phones. My daughter and the other hunters have set up a cordon around the facility. My husband, Derek, and Alan have entered through the main door. The alphas have not arrived yet.”

Victoria didn’t mention that she had also given his son means to get inside the facility, but she wasn’t going to cross that bridge now. The sheriff had to play his role, which meant he couldn’t go haring off for his reckless son. 

The sheriff nodded. “I haven’t been able to see Allison or the others.” 

“We train them very well. You have to be good when your prey has superior senses.” 

The sheriff looked uncomfortable, but Victoria didn’t care. Eventually, he’d come to understand the threat they lived under. She hoped it wouldn’t cost the life of his son. 

“Well … keep me in the loop.” The sheriff grimaced. “I want to know when it goes down.”

“You will, Noah. I promised.” She did promise. Right now, though, she needed him gone before he blew her cover. 

After the police car had left, Victoria settled in to wait. She had divided the hunters waiting on the outside into two teams. The first team was equipped with heavy weapons and enough explosives to enter the locked-down Eichen House. They were meant to be deployed if Chris requested them. The second team was led by Allison; it was a pursuit team intending to follow any of the alphas who escaped. 

Victoria’s role was one of coordination. She would be in contact with Allison, Chris, the leader of the second squad, and Sheriff Stilinksi – as well as the lesser Stilinski – and make sure that the right people were in the right place. She also had a good view of the main entrances of Eichen House. 

Not fifteen minutes after the sheriff had left, she saw their targets – a sedan which the alphas had been spotted using as well as one of the twins on his motorcycle. She sent out a single text alerting all units to their arrival. 

She kept her head facing forward in the car, watching the trio of werewolves in her rear-view mirror. That was the first thing she noticed – where was the fourth werewolf? One of the twins was missing, and that was disturbing in itself. She followed up that text with another. 

The three of them headed up the steps to the entryway. The moon had risen and was full now, but visiting hours were long past over. She hoped that the alphas weren’t going to hurt the workers too much. Records indicated that while Deucalion and the twins were focused mostly on other werewolves, Kali had no compunction about killing humans who got in her way.

That’s why Deucalion, while being the mastermind and undoubtedly the more powerful of the alphas, was a secondary target to Victoria. The Code was the Code. Kali hunted humanity and so she was the most important target to be destroyed.

Victoria sends out texts to the sheriff and Allison and the other team to see if they’ve noticed the missing twin. None of them had. It’s a variable and in a plan as complicated as this, unforeseen variables have a way of biting you on the ass.

She was still considering it when Eichen House entered lockdown. The shutters cover the doors and windows. She knew it was show time.

 

ETHAN

The trio of alpha werewolves moved like a raging brush fire through the first floor of Eichen House, even though Morrell had arranged for them to get in. Deucalion was quiet, determined, and wary. His power radiated off of him. Ethan could tell that Demon desired nothing more but to regain the upper hand, to set the board back up the way he wanted it. 

Kali looked free. She knew the importance of the letting the prey work itself into a frenzy and to make that fatal, crucial mistake that would enable her teeth to find its throat. But while the strange détente of the last few months had focused the Alpha of Alphas, that same time had twisted Kali’s mainspring until it was ready to snap. She once told Ethan that she only felt really alive when she was in a fight, when she was able to throw her whole body into it. He wouldn’t want to be the person who got in her way tonight.

Ethan felt sick. He felt sick in a way that he had never felt before, because he was striding into danger and he was striding in alone. Aiden wasn’t there. They weren’t entirely co-dependent; they’d been apart for days at a time, but they were always together for battle. Of course, he’d been trained to fight without him; Deucalion wasn’t interested in having alphas with such an obvious weakness. That didn’t mean Ethan enjoyed it.

But the truth was that Ethan didn’t want to be here either. He wanted to be out there looking for Danny. Killing Derek Hale’s stupid beta wasn’t interesting to him. Killing the stupid Darach wasn’t interesting to him. Suddenly and quietly, Ethan realized that being a member of this pack wasn’t interesting to him – not any more. There were no mystic bonds that made the pack stay strong – it was just Deucalion’s leadership and Ethan’s need not to be an omega. But he wouldn’t be an omega if he just left. He’d take Danny and he’d start his own pack and Deucalion and Kali could keep on killing people for the hell of it. He’d done enough.

Immediately, he realized that it was bluster. Aiden wanted Deucalion’s approval. And if Aiden stayed, Ethan would stay. That was the way it had always been, that would be the way it would always be.

He watched impassively as Kali maimed or cowed any worker that got in her way. He was steering Deucalion; they moved more quickly when someone was guiding him. Ethan could hear the slow and deliberate breathing of the older man. He was processing information. 

“This way,” Deucalion ordered. “Our enemy is here. Most likely waiting for us with the target.” 

“So …” Ethan was about to ask about how he wanted to play it when an alarm klaxon sounded. They weren’t distracted by it, as they were prepared for loud noises in a fight. 

“We walk right into the trap with our eyes open,” Deucalion answered. “Any trap they’ve set up here has had to be hampered by logistics. They simply didn’t have time to make a trap that won’t bend against unrelenting force. Something we possess in abundance. I’ve seen no evidence that worries me.” 

Ethan nodded. Kali was out in front, keeping the orderlies and guards away from them. She had only killed one bloodily. It was intended as a statement and it had the intended effect. They cleared out of the way.

It had one unintended effect though – with the clank like of a bear trap, Eichen House sealed itself. It entered lockdown. Deucalion and Kali were expecting it and they were still confident. Ethan felt like he couldn’t breathe. He knew he smelled of panic, but he tried to fight it down. 

They went up to the sixth floor, Kali’s toes clicking on the staircase. Morrell had given them the location of McCall’s room. Ethan caught a scent that he knew the others must have. It was faint, but it was like a recently dead corpse. 

“Well, that seems sloppy,” observed Kali. She had expected them to try their best to surprise the Alpha Pack. 

Ethan opened his mouth to agree, but he still felt like he couldn’t draw breath. He coughed but the feeling didn’t leave. It was then that he realized that this wasn’t anxiety about where he was – it was Aiden’s pain he was feeling. He shouted at Kali and Deucalion about what he felt.

Deucalion replied simply. “Ethan, what do you expect us to be able to do about it?” He sounded perfectly reasonable. Whatever was happening was across town. There was nothing they could do within a reasonable time frame to affect the outcome.

Something snapped within Ethan. It was just one thing after another, and he was done with this entire pile of bullshit. Without responding, he turned and began to run, calling upon every single ounce of the power he possessed. They had only reached the third floor of the House and there was a large window at the end of a hallway, covered by a metal shutter now. He hit the glass and the metal shutter at full speed, twisting the shutter open and shattering the glass. He would have been impressed with it if he hadn’t hurt himself so badly. 

From there it was just a brief fall, an agonizing sprint across the yard and a leap over the wall to where his bike was. He should have been free at that point, but that’s when the hunters showed up.

 

JACKSON WHITTEMORE

Jackson took grim satisfaction at watching the dance of emotions on Scott McCall’s face as he entered his room in Eichen House. Scott had been lying on his bed reading some book – Jackson didn’t care what it was – and the sound of the door had made him look up. First there was the dull startle of flawed recognition, then dawning surprise, and then terror. The book slipped from his hands, bounced on the bed and fell to the floor. 

“I thought – I thought I dreamed you.” Scott spoke with a tremor. Jackson found that he relished the emotion.

“Nope. Been here for a while. Boo.” Jackson couldn’t help it. More and more, he just felt like being an ass. Or maybe he was reverting to type, only more murderous.

A minute passed. “You … I killed you. You’re a ghost.”

“Geez, McCall, I know you’re drugged up in this place, but if you don’t get that pea brain in gear, we’re going to be here all night.”

Scott’s face convulsed and then the fear dissipated into something that resembled resignation. “I won’t fight you.” 

Jackson felt his fingers twitch and a cold chill ran up his spine. He hadn’t killed anyone yet as a revenant, but he realized now it was only a matter of time. When you lived on the edge of oblivion, the only good thing you felt was what held you here. Everything else was tainted by the fact that you were dead and that you didn’t belong.

“Tempting, McCall, but not killing you is _so_ much better. You know, I totally understand why you ripped me apart in that chemistry room. You could hold yourself back from killing Allison, because you wuvved her. Though why the face? It was a pretty face.” He cocked his head to one side. “And you held yourself back from killing Stilinski, because you two have been attached so long, it was probably like ripping your own leg off. I’ve seen him hobbling about. But me? You probably hated me.” 

McCall whispered “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I know you weren’t in your right mind. I simply don’t care. It’s still your fault that Peter imagined I was important enough to you that he had to get rid of me. I should break your neck on principle, but this is so much better.”

Jackson smirked, but even he knew that this wasn’t a jock-douche smirk, but a sharp glare of sadistic evil. “Because you are never getting out of here, McCall, and we both know that’s just as unfair as me dying for Peter’s little game. You know why no one but your parents visits you, McCall?” He chuckled. “They don’t visit you because they can’t look you in the eye: the Stilinski’s, the Argent’s, your stupid boss, and Derek Hale. You’re their scapegoat, and they can’t ever let you leave. You think you have it bad now, just you wait.” 

McCall’s mouth twisted in horrific surprise. 

“You thought it was someone else’s idea, didn’t you? No. They hung every single crime Peter committed or forced you to commit on you to protect their little werewolf secret.” Jackson was so totally enjoying this; if he got to be miserable, so did everyone else. “It was in all the papers, which means you can’t get out. You’re a kidnapper, and a murderer, and a psycho, and that’s all you’ll ever be. You think it’s bad now? Just wait. You’ve been here what – fourteen months? Wait until it’s been five years. Wait until it’s been ten years. Wait until you’re sixty and you’re still sitting in this room.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Scott growled at him. It ripped out of him like the cry of pain from a wound.

“I’m passing the time, McCall, and I want to do it with you, because we’re two peas in a pod. I’m not here because I want to be, either. Ghosts and things like me aren’t here for themselves, but for what happened before. It’s really pissing me off.”

Jackson put his back up against the wall. “You know, McCall, I remember you going out there in the school to face Peter by yourself. You probably regret that now, don’t you? But if you had succeeded in driving him off, you’d probably be running around playing hero. You’d be trying to save ever loser who got themselves in trouble; no matter how much it took from you.”

“I was supposed to just let Peter kill us?” Scott protested but it was a feeble protest. After all, what Scott had chosen to do had gotten people killed, thought Jackson, a lot of people.

“You were supposed to _run_ ,” Jackson countered. “It was there for you. If you had left us and just went, we’d all be fine. If you had broken the door open in the chemistry room, we’d have gotten out. ” 

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“You knew it. You just didn’t want anyone to know you were a werewolf, so you ended up doing exactly what Peter wanted. Big hero, ain’t cha?” 

McCall didn’t answer; he just crumpled in on himself. Jackson smiled. It felt good to torture him like that. He’d have to pay him more visits. “Face it, McCall. You were born to be used.” 

Suddenly, from outside in the hallway, was the sound of roars and gunfire. Jackson flexed his shoulders. It was time for the main event.

 

DEREK HALE

If he had ever thought that he’d be sneaking through the hallways of an insane asylum – oh, that wasn’t proper terminology, mental health facility – with a veterinarian and Chris Argent as an alpha, he would have though he was having a nightmare. But no, that is exactly what he was doing. 

For the millionth time, how was this his life?

Derek paused as they started down the hall. He had kept his senses open in order for them not to be surprised. The other two immediately looked at him. “The alphas are here. They just came in the main entrance.” 

Chris immediately started looking around for the best place to start an ambush. “Do you have enough mountain ash to seal off a corridor?” 

Deaton raised his courier bag. “I have enough.” The plan is to seal Scott off from the alphas with Mountain Ash while Chris and Derek drive them out to where the hunters can put them down. They get to the hallway where’s Scott’s room was located.

Derek threw up his hands for them to stop. From this distance it’s so faint, but he can hear Jackson talking to Scott, needling him. “The revenant is here. Why is it here?”

Chris brings his gun up. “That means the Darach is here. Why do I feel like we’ve been set up?” 

“Because we have,” replied Deaton. “This is my sister’s doing. Marin arranged for all three factions …” Suddenly, the lockdown klaxons sounded. Derek could hear the tumultuous closing of the shutters. 

Derek’s eyes gleam red. “What’s she doing? What’s her goal? She’s locked all of us in here.”

Deaton says calmly. “She’s maintaining the balance.”

“Mutually assured destruction,” Chris nods. “We all kill each other – the standoff is over and anyone left won’t be strong enough to cause trouble.”

Derek pushed down panic. He was an alpha, and he knew now what was important. “The plan hasn’t changed. Deaton, find your sister. If she can arrange this, she can lift the lockdown. Chris, you and I will keep them busy until it happens.”

Chris looks down the hallway. “What about Scott? Deaton has to set …”

“I’ll protect Scott,” Derek answered. “He’s my beta.” Deaton turned without another word and disappeared down the hallway. 

Derek and Chris scope out the hallway. “They’ll be coming up the stairs,” Chris whispered. “We should fight them here.”

“What about …?” Derek began but then he died off. He could hear the alphas on the stairs. He heard the sound of something shattering. He shifted and growled. “Get ready.”

Deucalion and Kali appeared up the stairs. “Well, it looks like we were expected. Kali, would you mind keeping them entertained while I see to business?” 

Kali stretched. “It would be my pleasure.” There was a slight pause, like the world was taking a breath, and then, roars and gunfire filled the hallway.

Deucalion and Kali were more than enough to handle Derek, but first they had to get close to him. Chris’s assault rifle boomed in the hallway. Kali serpentine down the hall, quick enough to dodge it, but Deucalion smashed in the door of a nearby room. When he emerged, he was in full Demon Wolf form, and he moved much quicker.

Kali feinted towards Derek and then leapt almost completely over him, her claws scraping the ceiling tiles before she landed in front of Chris. Experienced, Chris had already started moving backwards; it was up in the air if he was going to get enough bullets in Kali before he ran out of room. 

It became apparent would remain up in the air when Jackson emerged from Scott’s room and with one hand slammed Chris into the wall with enough force to stun him. The assault rifle dropped from his hands. He turned to Kali. “I’m supposed to ask – who wants to go first?”

“Funny.” Kali snarled and leaped at the revenant, slashing at him with both feet in a spinning kick. 

“I thought so,” Derek said, taking Kali from behind and hurling her down the hallway. “Jackson, whose side are you on?”

Jackson pushed past Derek without replying and headed straight towards Deucalion. Deucalion wasn’t a talker in battle. That wasn’t a good sign for Derek, but what was even worse was what he saw at the end of the hallway. A woman in some absolutely strange neo-Hellraiser get up with a face that looked like a mass of scar tissue stood at the end. 

“Don’t get involved, Derek,” shouted the Darach in a gravelly, echoing voice. “Jackson and I are going to end the alphas. You’ll be safe then. Everyone will be safe.” 

Derek looked back behind him, down the hallway to where Chris was unconscious. He realized it now. While Chris could never tolerate the murderous druid, she was hoping that Derek would let her go. Jackson had targeted the hunter to make it easier for him to make that decision.

Derek hesitated as battle was joined farther down the hall. Jackson slammed into Deucalion with a powerful blow. It would have broken Derek’s bones, but the Demon Wolf seemed only mildly inconvenienced. He slashed back across Jackson’s face, huge gouges in the dead flesh. They knitted themselves back together with little effort.

Deucalion sighed, obviously irritated. “Kali, would you do us both a favor and kill the Darach? The revenant is going to take all of my attention.” They grappled with each other – Deucalion was stronger but it was readily apparent that normal injuries meant nothing at all to Jackson. 

“Yes, Kali,” hissed the Darach, stalking forward. “Kill me. Maybe this time you’ll get it right.” The dark druid reached out a hand and ripped a guard rail off of it, wielding it like a staff. 

Derek watched as Kali stuttered to a halt, watching the Darach. Light dawned in her eyes. “Julia.” 

As Derek turned back to see to Chris, he heard Deucalion speak a moment after he had been pushed into a wall. “We’ll speak about this later, Kali, but killing her quickly would be a good move.” 

Derek needn’t have worried about Chris, because he saw Scott dragging the man into his room. He wasn’t surprised. Now, all he had to do was figure out what the best move would be. The sides looked pretty much balanced right now. Deucalion and Jackson were stalemated. Kali and the Darach – Julia – danced around each other. 

Derek’s first instinct would be to help the Darach and Jackson – it was the selfish play. With Kali and Deucalion gone – and that twin being taken care of by the exterior Argent – the threat of the alpha pack would be over.

But the truth was that he had learned he had to do more than the selfish play. While protecting the pack was the alpha’s job, he had to think about the big picture. Everything that Deaton had told him about dark druids and powerful necromancy like a revenant was a warning. On purpose or by accident, the pair of them could become even more dangerous than the Alpha Pack. 

Derek settled in to watch the fight and guard the approach to Scott’s room.

 

STILES STILINSKI

“God damn it, Stilinski.” Stiles muttered to himself. “Only you could get lost on your way to the battle.” He realized he was in Eichen House’s kitchens. He had heard the lockdown go into effect. He had heard the gunfire start just moments go. Brunski had abandoned him soon after the service entrance without explanation.

God, that man was an ass. 

Stiles stamped through the kitchen, trying to find the stairs. He had to get to Scott’s room, but he had never been in this part of the facility before and he was hopelessly lost. The worst part was that the moment the alarms had gone off, the staff had vanished. They most likely ha pre-arranged positions to take when lockdown occurred. Even if he had run into one of them, they probably wouldn’t be willing to lead him to the right place – especially since there sounded like gunfire was going on there.

He was about to shout in frustration when suddenly someone tapped him on the shoulder. He shrieked in shock. 

A strange looking woman was staring at him. “You’re going the wrong way.” 

“Could you not do that?” Stiles exclaimed. “I think I died from a heart attack.”

“No, you didn’t. Come on. You don’t have much time.” She had the largest eyes he had ever seen.

Stiles starting following her. “Do you mind if I ask who you are and where you are taking me?”

“I’m Meredith.” That’s all she said, grabbing him by the hand. 

“Your Scott’s friend. Boyd told me about you.” He started moving faster. “Wait. How did you know I was here?” Stiles didn’t stop moving, because she knew that. 

“I heard you. Come on. We don’t have much time. If you’re not there before he leaves, Scott and Derek will die.” Meredith nearly yanked him off his feet. 

Stiles ran along with her. She seemed to know all the ins and outs of the place. “Before who leaves! Meredith! Before who leaves!”

They turned a corner, ran (well he hobbled) down a hall, and then reached the stairs. She strangely knew how to help him up the stairs, keeping him from slipping – stairs were always difficult. 

The sounds of fighting were right through that door. He grabbed Meredith’s arm. “You don’t want to go in there, it’s going to be dangerous.”

“Not for me,” she answered with a weird wild-eyed surety, “and not for you either. Come on!”

The door opened to reveal a terrible fight. Kali had one eye swollen shut, faster than her alpha healing could deal with, but she was fighting with some woman who, while bleeding, was also healing. Her face looked like someone had dropped a jack-o-lantern on concrete. Farther down the hallway, Jackson was grinning, and it wasn’t a pleasant grin, as he was beginning to choke a werewolf that must be Deucalion.

Derek was farther down the hallway, and he did not look happy when he saw Stiles and Meredith there. His eyebrow came together in worry and anger. “Stiles!” He shouted.

Stiles grimaced, but before he could call back, Meredith said. “Get ready. You’ll only have one shot at this.” 

“What’s going to happen, Meredith?” She obviously, to Stiles, knew more than he did. 

“What’s dead,” said Meredith, “should stay dead.” She turned from him and walked down the hall. He tried to grab at her, but she could move surprisingly quickly for a mental facility patient with extraordinarily and disturbingly large eyes. 

Stiles took a few steps after her. She walked right past where Kali and the Darach were tearing at each other. To Stiles it looked personal. The women stopped as she walked past them, startled by her focused demeanor and her disregard for their rather frightening appearances. 

“Jackson,” she whispered. 

He glanced up from throttling Deucalion. “Who the hell are you?” 

“I’m sorry,” she replied. Stiles gaped at what was happening. This Meredith was really, really weird. But not as weird as what happened next. With the sharp intake of breathe she screamed. 

It was really loud. Stiles realized that every part of Eichen House must have heard it. The sound didn’t dissipate though – it echoed from the walls and the corners. It rattled the glass. It echoed and echoed and echoed, like it was caught in a focusing chamber.

The werewolves, unprepared for the onslaught, clapped hands over their ears. The echoes were so intense that he could even hear Scott in the other room howling in pain. Derek and Kali dropped to their knees.

The Darach was as little effected by it as Stiles was. She did not waste any time and taking the railing she had torn free drove it right through Kali’s chest. If either of them gave any sound, it was lost. 

But the scream had it worst effect on Jackson. Puzzlement crossed over his feature and then suddenly, they went slack. It was as if the motivating force of the corpse had been expelled. In an action that would haunt Stiles for the rest of his life (while simultaneously reminding him of the best of 80s horror movies), putrefaction caught up to Jackson’s body. Flesh fell off curling and liquefying with a terrific stench. So rapid it was that before the scream died, only skeletal hands covered with a thin lay of disgusting tissue were holding Deucalion by the throat. 

Stiles hobble forward. Whatever this Meredith had done, it had taken a lot out of her. She had destroyed Jackson and if the Darach’s bloody hands were any indication, she had caused Kali’s death as well. 

Deucalion frowned as he stood up. “A banshee. I’ll deal with you later.” The Demon Wolf turned to the dark druid. “Let’s end this.” 

Stiles ignored the clash. He moved as quickly as he could to Derek and Meredith. Scott poked his head around the corner and, their eyes met. Stiles blinked twice; he couldn’t afford to cry now. 

“God damn it, Stiles,” Derek said once again. “What the hell are you thinking?” 

Stiles walked past Derek. “I was thinking that if my best friend was in danger, I had to be there. No matter what.” Scott didn’t look like he understood what was going on, but he understood that. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t lose it now. 

There was a cry from further down the hall. The battle between the Darach and the Demon Wolf was over. Without the guardian sacrifices, without Jackson’s power, and with the frustrating nature of Eichen House, she was no match for Deucalion. The four of them turned to see her go down under his claws. 

Stiles realized that Derek would never see her human face. 

“Now,” growled Deucalion. “This adventure has cost me too much. If you don’t mind, Derek, I’m just going to kill everyone in this hallway. I’ll track down your betas and kill them if Cora doesn’t become alpha. It’s over. The only thing you have left is how much this is going to hurt.” 

Before Stiles could say anything to him, Derek charged down the hallway. Stiles whipped out his phone. “Scott, I don’t have time to explain, but you need to take Meredith into your room and close the door.”

Scott hesitated. Stiles could see that he had questions and that he wanted to talk, but there was still … there was still … the trust in his eyes. Trust that Stiles didn’t think he deserved, but he was grateful for it anyway. Scott guided Meredith into the room while Stiles sent Victoria Argent a text. 

Without waiting, Stiles hobbled as close to the dueling werewolves as he could. He knew the aerosol spray would affect him as well, but he also knew how long he could hold his breath. 

Derek was getting his ass royally kicked – even after the pummeling he had gotten by Jackson and the Darach, Deucalion was a terrific fighter. Derek wasn’t a slouch, getting a few licks in, but the battle would never have been in doubt. Then Victoria Argent’s gas took effect. Both of them had been struggling so hard that they were breathing heavily and so the gas went right into their bloodstreams.

Coughing and choking, they separated. Stiles, holding his breath, kept his eye on Deucalion. He hoped that Victoria hadn’t betrayed him, and that Derek wasn’t going to die. Deucalion, though, was going to end. He drew his knife.

Killing a person was easily talked about, but it was hard to do, and Stiles was only seventeen. He was a junior. He should be pursuing Lydia Martin in a hopeless love affair, warming the lacrosse bench, and spending way too much time getting in trouble with Scott. But that wasn’t going to happen.

What was going to happen is that a madman had targeted people he love for death, and he had a chance to make them safe forever. For him there really wasn’t much hesitation. He slit the Demon Wolf’s neck so deeply he hit the spinal cord.

 

LYDIA MARTIN:

When she came too, she felt different. She was in the attic of her house. She seemed unhurt but she suddenly felt as if her whole mind had come unglued. Huge pieces were missing. 

Aiden was standing over by the small casement window, looking for someone. “Shall we go downstairs, my dear? We’ll be having guess soon.” He was talking in a strange manner. 

“Aiden?” She stuttered. 

“Not anymore.” Aiden brought his hand up. “Oh! I forgot what I looked like.” He strode over and pulled Lydia vertical by the arm. “It must be a relief to have your own body back again. I know that having a body of my own is much better, especially one so young and strong.”

“Aiden?” She spoke again, more forcefully this time.

“Come now, Lydia, you are smarter than that.”

The pieces fell together. The missing time. The strange reading choices. The deal with Miss Blake. All things she had done that she had no memory of doing. And she knew, without a doubt, who had done it. “Peter Hale.”

“In the flesh. Or more precisely, in Aiden’s flesh.” He laughed as he walked down into the main room. 

“Where is he?” Lydia demanded.

“Can’t you tell? He’s gone where the goblins go …” He whistled a tune from the Wizard of Oz. “I didn’t drive your soul out, because are far too useful, but this body is to be all mine. I just have one little detail to resolve first.” There was the sound of a motorcycle. “And there he is.” 

“You see, Lydia, just as you were a perfect vessel to hide a piece of my soul as a banshee, Aiden was the perfect vessel to take over permanently. The twins’ unique ability to meld themselves together had the unfortunate side effect of loosening their minds’ and souls’ grip on their bodies. I could boot him out without killing the body.” 

Lydia’s mind whirled with shock. It all made sense. “You’ve been using me. You’ve been planning this for a year!” 

“Pretty much.” They had arrived in the living room. Peter explained that Deaton’s intervention in the hospital had inadvertently stabilize him as well as her. He’d been planning on a more elaborate ritual with Derek, but the arrival of the twins and their interest in Lydia had opened up another possibility. 

“You … you killed Danny!” She shouted. 

“Yes. He was close enough to you socially to notice things, but not as emotionally dependent on you as Jackson. If he had just waited a week, he would have been fine. Oh, well, bad timing.”

“You murdered him!” Lydia accused and tried to struggle out his grip. 

“Indeed. I murdered a lot of people, and unless you want to add your mother to that list, you’ll behave yourself.” He pulled along roughly as suddenly a bleeding and desperate Ethan burst into the door. 

“Aiden! You’re alive!” Ethan had clearly been shot at least twice; Lydia saw black blood trailing from the wounds. “We have to go; the Argents are here.” 

“Are they?” Peter in Aiden’s body smiled. “Well, that’s just darling.” 

Lydia didn’t know much about Ethan or the twins’ shared alphadom, but even panicked and disoriented, she knew danger when she saw it. “This isn’t Aiden. This isn’t Aiden!”

Ethan, weakened by his running fight with the hunters, slipped his attention to Lydia. At that moment, Peter pounced and grabbed the other twin by the throat.

“As much as I love the whole merged bodies trick and the pain sharing, I’m a selfish boy.” Peter choked Ethan with his own brother’s fingers. “I don’t need that link, so you don’t mind if I kill you, do you?” 

Lydia shouted at him. “No! No!” She didn’t know what to do. She had no weapons, she only knew that Peter had done the same thing to her as he had done to Scott – made her complicit in his crimes. 

Through the shattered door, Allison Argent and a man strode through. Allison had a bow and the red-haired man had a crossbow. They both had looks of confusion on their faces at the sight before them. 

“Allison! Shoot! It’s not Aiden, it’s Peter! That’s Peter!” 

Peter/Aiden threw Ethan to the side. Lydia couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. “It doesn’t matter much, but now that I have all of their alpha power, it’s time for the big reveal.” Peter/Aiden’s form transformed once more into a monstrous wolf-man beast and sprang at the hunters. 

Lydia closed her eyes, even as the battle continued. She couldn’t do anything, and she hated it, but she would hate seeing people die even more. When she opened them, it wasn’t the man-beast’s face that looked at her, and it wasn’t Aiden’s, it was Peter’s, looking smug. “Time to go.”

“Go?” Lydia looked desperately around the room. Ethan was lying on the ground; it didn’t look like he was breathing, but she couldn’t be sure. Allison was lying, eyes closed an unmoving up against the wall, and the red-haired man that had been with her was holding his mangled and bitten wrist. 

“Of course. Right now, you’re a hostage to see me safely out of town. But even if there weren’t hunters there, I’ll never let you go. Do you know,” he said silkily, “how rare your kind is? I would never let a banshee escape me, not when I have such _plans_ for you.”

He pulled her tight. “The battles are over, and everyone has lost. Everyone but me. That’s the best revenge, don’t you think?”


	5. Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years have passed and the wounds still haven't healed.

SCOTT MCCALL

Scott kept his hands in his lap as he studied his own face in the mirror; it was something he had done so many times it was reflex. The clippers buzzed in his ears as Fallon got ready to start. The orderly looked him up and down. “Are you sure you want me to go that short?”

“Yeah.” He was surprised that his answer was so calm. Yes, it was only a haircut, but it was happening that day. Calm didn’t seem to fit. Fallon had combed Scott’s hair straight down. If it grew any longer, he wouldn’t have been able to see, and it no longer brushed the back of his neck but hung below it. “I’m not sure when the next time I’ll be able to get a cut. The shorter it is the longer I’ll be able to go without it getting in the way.”

The clipper hummed like a swarm of bees when Fallon brought it near his head. The orderly’s hands moved confidently over the top of Scott’s head, and Scott didn’t even flinch. Instated, he watched the locks fall to the tiles of the shower-room floor. Fallon always cut patients’ hair in the appropriate bathrooms when he could to make clean up easier. “It’s a pity. You have good hair.” The orderly always talked strangely about hair, but Scott had grown to like him anyway. He wasn’t as … aggressive as the other orderlies at Eichen House. “I’ll miss cutting it.”

In the mirror, Scott’s face seemed to age before his own eyes. The longer hair had reminded him of what he was like before he had come to Eichen House. Sometimes he liked to remember that there _had_ been a time before this place. When he went to school. When he played Lacrosse. When he had friends and a family. Most of the time, though, he didn’t like to remember any of that. At those times, he pretended that the only thing that mattered were the impassable walls of Eichen House and the echoes he could listen to in the middle of the night. 

“Where did you learn to cut hair, Mr. Fallon?” He tapped his bare feet on the cool tiles.

The orderly paused in his cutting. It was against procedure to tell a patient anything about their lives outside the confines of the House. It was a safety precaution, and Scott knew that. He had asked it to avoid his own thoughts. He didn’t expect an answer.

“I used to be a barber. I went to school and everything.” Fallon said faintly. His own hair was gray and white, but it was always meticulously groomed. He was one of the oldest orderlies at the facility. “That was a very long time ago.”

“Why’d you stop?” Scott wanted to know anything about the other man. He was trembling underneath the drape that Fallon had put over his shoulders to catch the cut hair. It would only be a few hours now.

“I never did. I quit my shop and got a job here at Eichen House instead.” Mr. Fallon glanced around to make sure they weren’t overheard. They were alone in the shower rom. “My wife used to be a patient here, you know?” 

“I didn’t.” Scott let the conversation distract him.

“She was very sick. It made her do things that didn’t make much sense, but I loved her, both when she was here and when she was at home. They told me what the diagnosis was several times, but I don’t remember it. It didn’t matter; she was my Anne.” He started to shave Scott’s head once again. “She was a beautiful, beautiful woman, and so very proud of her looks. She hated coming here even when things got bad. She complained about her hair and how it always looked terrible. They didn’t have anyone who could cut it, you see?”

Scott nodded to answer. He watched the older man’s knobby fingers guide the clippers effortlessly. 

“She said it made her feel like an animal, when she couldn’t get her hair done. When she passed away, I wanted to do something. So I came here to take care of patients like her.” Fallon’s voice was soft and filled with something like memory. “Now, they have someone to cut their hair.” 

Scott remained quiet while Fallon finished the rest of his haircut. It was so very short. As short as Stiles’ hair at the beginning of the second semester of sophomore year. He smiled at the memory; he guessed he liked it.

“And the beard?” 

Scott rubbed one hand over the beard. It, too, was getting long and unkempt. “Trim it up, please.” It always shocked him when he remember that he had been here for so long that he could now grow a beard. It freaked him out sometimes, realizing how much he had changed, but he figured you would have to change in four years, wouldn’t you? He kept the beard because keeping it would help prevent people from recognizing him. 

He leaned his head back so Fallon could carefully trim his beard. For obvious reasons, they didn’t let the patients have razors, so he always had to rely on Fallon to keep it groomed. It seemed silly to Scott not to let him have razors, because he had claws. The administrators knew that he had them. It was probably for liability reasons, he guessed.

He had never said anything about that to Fallon, because he didn’t know if Fallon was one of the employees who knew about the sixth floor and its _special_ patients. Scott hadn’t resided on the sixth floor for over two years. He had behaved himself and had earned the privilege of being in the general population. The meaner orderlies who were in the know referred to him as the ‘pet wolf,’ but that didn’t stop them from using the sixth floor as a threat.

“There we go,” the older orderly said and took the sheet off carefully. He took a whisk and cleaned off Scott’s neck. “Tell me what you think.”

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t help but be pleased. It would take someone who knew him very well to recognize him immediately and even they might have to do a double-take. “Thanks, Mr. Fallon. It looks good.”

Fallon smiled at the compliment. “You’re welcome. And, hey, good luck out there.”

Scott didn’t reply but helped the orderly clean up the mess. He actually wanted to take a shower before getting dressed to make sure that he got all lose hair was gone. All it took was a single stray hair to be irritating. This was going to be difficult enough without constantly scratching an itch.

Once in the shower, he turned the hot water up to its maximum temperature. Eichen House had the coldest damn showers he’d ever taken. It was not as bad as the girls’ showers, he’d been told, but he barely even used a bit of cold water. He stood for what must have been ten minutes, letting the stream wash over him.

He faded out. He had learned to do that and it was a useful skill here; it was a simple way to banish the world. He didn’t have a time limit on this shower and he was going to make the most of it. Like the haircut, he didn’t know when he’d be able to have one again.

Scott’s reverie was interrupted by Valreaux. If Fallon was an orderly Scott liked, Valreaux was one he did not. Built wide and tall and with a mean streak as wide as his neck, the man would have taken a cut in pay if only he got to openly abuse patients. Scott knew Valreaux was in the know about the sixth floor, and he suspected that the idea that he could boss around dangerous creatures gave the asshole orderly a chubby.

“McCall!” He shouted as he opened the door to the shower. Scott had been so unfocused, he hadn’t heard him approaching from down the hall. Though, in his defense, it was easier to surprise him in Eichen House than anywhere else he had been. Specific noises had a way of being overwhelmed. Everything _did_ echo.

“Yes, sir?” Scott always defaulted to politeness with the less friendly members of the staff. It kept ‘accidents’ to a minimum.

“Dr. Morell wants to see you in her office before you leave. Which means _now._ ” It was a leering command. After Scott nodded his assent, the orderly went on. “You know, McCall, we’re making bets.”

Scott knew better than to respond to Valreaux’s taunt. Instead he turned off the shower and dried himself off. Valreaux, of course, watched him. It was a minor aggression that the asshole liked to indulge in. He had no respect for privacy.

“We’re wondering how long it is before you’ll be back. I’m giving you three weeks.”

Scott bit his tongue and kept getting dressed. There was no reason to feed the beast. 

Valreaux didn’t give up. “Stupid mutts like you really respond well to cage training.” He chuckled and left the room, expecting Scott to follow him. Scott did, of course. If Valreaux was trying to trick him into losing his temper, he had failed. Scott was leaving this place and buttwipes like him behind.

Marin Morrell’s office was large and airy with lots of sunlight, even though she worked at the House only two days a week. The administration seemed to value her expertise. She did know more about the people like him and the monsters on the sixth floor than anyone else. 

Scott appreciated all the help she gave him, but there was always a part of him that was suspicious of her motives. While she definitely helped him through difficult times, she seemed overly invested in trying to convince him to remain in Eichen House. He assumed that this meeting was going to be her last ditch attempt to get him to stay.

The counselor was sitting behind her big oak desk. A patient could always tell if she was pleased or not by where she met them. If it was going to a nice visit, she met the patient at the door or she sat on the big over-stuffed couch, waiting. If she was pissed off, she would sit behind the desk. It was the only real way to tell; she never let anything like an emotion appear on her face. 

“Thank you, Valreaux.” She dismissed the orderly. “Thank you for coming to visit me, Scott. You don’t have much time left before your release.”

“Yep,” Scott answered. “Looking forward to it.”

Dr. Morrell did not like the tone in his voice; she understood that he was being cheeky. “Never-the-less, I wanted to take this last chance to convince you not to leave.”

Scott stared at his feet. He respected her but he hated when she tried to get him to accept remaining here forever. “Why would I stay?”

“I think that Eichen House suits you; I think it’s some place where you can be content. You have recovered from being driven into a completely feral state; that wasn’t an easy accomplishment and you shouldn’t assume that you will ever fully recover. While you haven’t had a loss of control during the last two years, I can’t help but think that it is at least partially due to the controlled environment you experience here. You’ve only dealt with that traumas in such stable, supportive environments. I think you will find life in the outside world more difficult than you imagine it to be.”

Scott looked up at that, and he was sure he didn’t keep the mutiny completely out of his eyes. “You sound like Valreaux. He called it cage training.”

To her credit, she didn’t even blink. “I will certainly have a word with Chief Orderly Brunski about that particular choice of words. You’re not an animal; you’re something far more complex and far more dangerous. I can’t pretend that I am not thinking about others as well as yourself. It is not like you will be returning to a home where you would have a proper support system.”

Scott looked back down at his feet. He did that a lot when talking to her. 

“I am also concerned about the way in which you received your release from this facility. Given the realities of the situation, I do not understand how it could legitimately happen. It certainly wasn’t on my recommendation. In fact, when I brought it up, the Board of Directors made it clear to me that if I did not sign off on the release, I would lose my position here. This tells me that there is more going on here than the standard evaluation of a patient.”

“I should care about that, why?” Scott answered.

“I think that it is obvious something else going on, and I am not sure given your history that you are in a position to respond to it rationally outside of Eichen House. Frankly, I think you’re being used.” Morrell explained it in the oh-so-reasonable voice she employed when she was giving bad news. 

“And you’d know all about using me, wouldn’t you?” Scott shot back. He just wanted to leave. 

“I would.” Her unflappability was unnerving. “I don’t deny that I used you to do what I have always done and what I will always do: maintain the balance. Do I regret what happened to you? Of course, I do. Do I regret that I helped protect both the mundane and the supernatural worlds by pinning Peter Hale’s crimes on a feral teenager? I do not.” 

“Well, that’s good to know.” He didn’t give her the satisfaction of getting angry. 

Morrell watched him carefully. “Regardless of the strangeness in your release, I can certainly understand why you might want to leave Eichen House, but even if you manage to overcome the challenges presented by such a radically new environment, you cannot change who you are. Your options outside will be limited.” She was trying to sound sympathetic.

“Thank you for your concern, doctor.” Scott didn’t need her sympathy. “But maybe I’d rather starve to death on the street then let someone run my life. I guess I’m just tired of people who think they get to tell me how to live.” 

Dr. Morrell did not even flinch. “I hope you don’t regret this decision, Scott. I wish you success in your life outside.”

Scott got up silently and left the office. He clenched his fists over Morrell’s words. She wasn’t right, but she wasn’t wrong, either. 

As he was going back to his room, he glanced at one of the few clocks in the building and realized he only had forty-five minutes before his release time. His pulse spiked with a thrill of anxiety, but he wasn’t going to chicken out now. He was already packed, and packing hadn’t taken much time at all. Patients could only have a few personal items of their own in their rooms. The rest were located in a box in the makeshift storage areas in the basements. He couldn’t even remember what would be in that box, as he had been totally feral when it had put there.

He’d wait patiently. After all, that’s what he’d done for the last three years, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a surprise though when he found someone waiting for him in his small room. 

Meredith was perched on his bed. Sometimes she reminded him of a ghost, all silence and staring eyes. Most of the time, though, she reminded him of a wild bird, wary but curious. She would move her head to make sure she had you in her field of vision. Now, she had her arms tucked up under her chest, roosting.

“Hey,” he said softly. They were always quiet with each other. She heard enough without his bellowing at her, and she understood that most of the time, he just wanted it to be peaceful.

“It won’t be long now,” she said brightly, as if they were toddlers waiting for Christmas morning. “You should be more excited.”

“I’m excited,” he said. “I’m also scared.”

She unfolded herself from the bed and took him by the wrist, leading him to the bed and having him sit down. “Why are you scared?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next.” It was the truth. For all the surly confidence he expressed to people like Valreaux and Morrell, he didn’t know what was going to happen the moment he stepped out those front doors. He always knew what was going to happen in Eichen House.

“That’s the point.” She whispers. “You don’t know what’s going to happen next, which means that anything can happen next. Anything you want.”

“And anything I don’t want.” He gripped her hand back. “There’s so much that could go wrong …”

Meredith nods earnestly. “Oh, yes. You could get out and lose control and kill the first person you see. You could find that no one likes you and you’ll be forced to live in the woods. You could be tricked into joining the circus.” Few people knew how funny Meredith could be if she wasn’t preoccupied listening to the voices that constantly talked to her.

“You think I’m being silly,” Scott replied. For some reason, Meredith believed in him. He had no idea how that happened. 

“No,” she chirped. “No, you’re not being silly. You just don’t know, and you’re scared because you don’t know. You don’t know how special you are.”

“I’m not special,” Scott replied, sighing. Meredith always told him this. He knew he wasn’t special; lots of people were like him. Eichen House was full of them. 

Meredith shook her head. “You’re not going to be alone.” She took a different tactic. “Don’t be afraid of that.”

Scott didn’t say anything, but his face must show how much he disagreed with that statement. He didn’t blame anyone, really. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to care about a psycho murderer. He had difficulty, and _he was_ the psycho murderer. 

“There are people who love you. I can hear them.” Meredith spoke with that slightly creepy self-confidence. Scott never doubted her anymore. What she heard allowed her to move freely around Eichen House at will, much to the consternation of the orderlies, the guards and the administration. She never hurt anyone, and they never could figure out how she got out, so they pretended that it didn’t happen.

“Then where were they?” Scott couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. His mother visited once a month, because she lived in Los Angeles now. It took a lot to drive up to Beacon Hills. Sometimes she even got his dad to come up with her. He had to admit he appreciated the effort, but the awkwardness of the visits spoiled his happiness at seeing them again. She and Dr. Deaton were his only regular visitors.

“This is a secret everyone knows,” answered Meredith. “Guilt is as strong as love.” 

Scott could not argue. He had dealt with guilt for a long time. As much as he didn’t like Marin Morrell’s desire to keep him in Eichen House, she was a hell of a good therapist. “That’s pretty dark.”

“The world is dark,” Meredith replied with that spooky confidence she sometimes exhibited.

“I wish I could take you with me,” Scott suddenly burst out. “I wish I could take you out of this place.”

Meredith offered him the tiniest of smiles. “You don’t belong here. I do.” She squeezed her hand. “If I want to leave, I can, but that day is not today. I need to wait for something.”

Scott and Meredith had formed a friendship even if he didn’t understand half the things she talked about. It reminded him of another friendship that seemed ages ago, where he had to just nod and follow along when he could. “You _don’t_ belong here, either.”

She slid off the bed and put her feet under her. Instead of answering, she kissed him chastely on the cheek. 

“I’ll visit you,” he promised. 

“Maybe.” She replied and slipped out the door. 

Scott watched her leave. She might be the only thing he was going to miss. He would visit her. As often as he could. 

The release process was pretty painless. For all her desire for him to remain, Morrell had cleared the path for him to do it. He was surprised when he went through the box and he found his old backpack from sophomore year. It would be easier with that than carrying a box throughout the town. Everything he had fit in it; some pockets were a little tight, but he would be able to keep his hands free. 

Scott was stalling. The door was right there. All he had to do was walk through it, and he would be free. He looked back to the orderly watching the door. The man was bored and poking at the visitor’s log. If Scott walked out – no, when Scott walked out – he’d be by himself. On his own.

Squaring his shoulders, he walked out of the front door, down the carefully manicured lawn and out the gates of Eichen House. He was free.

Someone was waiting for him outside the gates. It took a moment for Scott to recognize him, because he hadn’t seen nor smelled him in years. But there had been one time when he had hoped this person would become his new father.

Sheriff Noah Stilinski was leaning up against his police cruiser, parked directly outside the gates of the mental health facility. He looked almost identical to the way he had looked the last time Scott had saw him, four years ago. “Hello, Scott.”

“Hello, Sheriff.” Scott had not expected to meet someone he knew from the past so quickly. He wasn’t prepared. Though, to be quite honest, he probably was never going to be prepared. Morrell had warned him, in her several attempts to get him to stay, that this was going to happen. She had advised him that if he did leave, and he did run into someone from his past, that the best course would be to take a moment to let himself feel whatever he was feeling before acting on it. 

They stood facing each other. Scott studied the man he had once seen almost every day. In the past, the sheriff was the person he could turn to. He would make it all right. Not only was that his job, he had known that the sheriff had cared for him. Now, Scott knew that was a lie.

“I didn’t think I had to come to the police station yet.” Part of his release was a form of parole. He would have to present himself once a month for a psychological evaluation. 

“You don’t,” Noah said amiably. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to see how you are doing.”

Scott shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. “Why do you care?” It slipped out before he could stop it. It wasn’t very polite. He had been close to him, as the father of his best friend and one of his mother’s friends. Now he was someone who could cause him trouble. “I’m not planning on killing people, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The sheriff frowned; it obviously wasn’t the reaction he expected. “I don’t think you’re going to kill people, Scott. I just thought that someone should be here when you got out.”

“If I wanted someone to meet me, I would have called my mother,” Scott replied. “Thanks for thinking of me.” He started to move down the street.

“You didn’t call your mother? She doesn’t know you’re getting out today?” The sheriff pushed off the car and started walking with him. “Do you think that’s wise, son?”

“I’m not your son. What I tell or don’t tell my mother is none of your business. I’m not a minor anymore.” Scott should have made his feet keep moving, but he couldn’t. Old memories kept pushing their way to the surface and he found he just couldn’t walk away from an authority figure like that.

The sheriff did indeed invoke authority. “Look, Scott, I’m just trying to help, but your attitude makes that difficult. Right now, my biggest concern isn’t that you’re going to kill people; it’s that I don’t want you to see you living on the street. I can make arrangements for you to go live with your mother.”

“If you wanted to help me, maybe you should have told my mother that I wasn’t a mass murderer? You think I want to go live with my mom so she can be scared? You think I want to sit across the room from her and know that she thinks I might snap and kill her any day? I can imagine her locking her door at night. Do you know she got back together with my Dad because she didn’t want to be alone?” Scott poured out those feelings. “So let me make this clear. No, I don’t want to go live with my parents.”

The sheriff obviously hadn’t thought about things that way. He stopped a few paces behind him. “I’m sure Dr. Morrell explained to you why we did what we did.”

Scott nodded; shame warred with anger in him. Now he couldn’t look the sheriff in the face. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to make me feel better. All I know is that everyone who had any idea of what really happened thought I’d be an animal forever, so why not make me a mass murderer. I’m sorry I disappointed everyone by getting better.”

The sheriff rubbed at his face. They must have made quite a sight, standing near the front of the fence at Eichen House, the sheriff talking to someone who didn’t belong anywhere. Scott grasped that he was taking things out on the elder Stilinski because he wanted the man to be the Sheriff that had scolded him when Stiles and he had made a mess in the kitchen trying to bake cookies. Noah Stilinski couldn’t be that man anymore; Scott couldn’t be that boy.

“Sheriff. Thank you for coming.” Scott emphasized those words so Noah understood that he meant them. “But I need to figure out what I’m going to do next by myself. I’ve spent the last four years with someone else defining my life for me. I’ll make you a deal. If I need help, I’ll come to you. I promise.” 

The sheriff looked for a moment like he was going to say something else, but instead he just offered the thinnest of smiles. “See that you do.” He then walked back to the police cruiser. Scott didn’t watch him; he just put one foot in front of the other. 

Beacon Hills hadn’t changed much in four years, but he had. While he still knew his way around, he looked at everything as if the whole city had been burned down and then rebuilt exactly as it was. He looked for the mistakes. Was that a new coffee shop? Did they put up a new stoplight? He couldn’t be sure; his memory was not as good as it used to be. 

It was a good thing that he managed to stay in good shape once he recovered himself. He exercised a lot. Not that it would have matter much. Inhuman metabolism had its advantages. By the time he got to the first place he was looking for it was a little past noon.

The house was still there. Scott had foolishly worried that it wouldn’t be. He knew the front porch. He saw the sidewalk where he had learned to skateboard. He couldn’t see into his room; there were curtains over it now. But it was no longer his house. There was a tricycle lying on its side a little ways from the front door. Young children lived there now. He couldn’t even go in. What was he going to say? He’d been in an insane asylum for four years and wanted to see his old room? He moved on.

It didn’t take long to get to reach the next place. This home was lived in as well, but unlike his home, it seemed not have to changed owners. The mailbox still said ‘Argent.’ He even saw Mrs. Argent sweeping the living room, like a million other people in a million other homes. It was so normal. With a dark chuckle, he decided against saying hello. 

But he had to know. He crawled up onto the roof and crept to the window. He could hear that there wasn’t anyone in the room. The window was locked, so he could not creep in there, which is probably for the best. It wouldn’t be great to get caught breaking and entering on his first day of freedom. Peering through the sheer curtains, he could tell how bare the room was. 

Of course. It’s the middle of the semester; Allison was probably in college somewhere. She hadn’t visited him, but he didn’t even know if she knew that he wasn’t feral. Chris had seen him, but that didn’t mean anything. Why would Mr. Argent let her know that the boy that had slashed her face was getting better? It would be cruel.

It occurred to him that all his friends were in college now. He hadn’t even graduated high school. It didn’t change the fact that there was nothing in this house for him. He leapt off the roof and sprinted away. Hopefully, the Argents would never know that Scott had been there.

He kept walking. It was getting later in the afternoon, and it was winter. Lengthening shadows were creeping across the street. He moved from one to another as if they could protect him from the feeling that crept down his throat from the back of his neck. As he had guessed, no one noticed him. He looked pretty normal, he guessed, but he also didn’t look anyone in the eye. 

Across the street was the animal clinic. It looked the same. Scott must have stood across the street for twenty minutes. What was he hoping for? Deaton had visited him petty regularly once he had woken up. The visits were always bright spots in the bland sameness of the years. Doc was always careful with what he said, focusing on Scott rather than what was happening outside the walls.

Deaton had always told him that when he got out – he always said when, not if – that Scott should come to him first. Scott could do it right now, and he wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t. Maybe it was like the reason he hadn’t called his mother; he didn’t want to burden his old boss. Scott knew he would be a burden. 

Scott turned and walked away. Maybe tomorrow.

He stopped thinking about where he was going and let himself walk. He was free, and he had to get used to it, but freedom was being difficult. He felt the solution tug on the back of his mind; he let his instincts take over. His feet followed them.

He passed by the high school; lacrosse practice was still going on. He halted his unconscious course to watch the athletes run across the field. He heard Coach’s bellow of fury and the shriek of his whistle. He tried to remember what practice felt like. He couldn’t; it had been lost to time. 

The sun set slowly over Beacon Hills. The long shadows pooled into lakes of shade. The air chilled. In the twilit sky, stars crept to their places. There was no place to go; there was only one place to go. His feet carried him there without conscious thought.

Scott had to admit it was a beautiful house. It stood amongst the trees as if had always stood there. There were lights on, welcoming those who approached. He placed one faltering foot on the steps up to the front door.

That door opened, throwing the foyer’s light into his face. He had to say something. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You always had somewhere to go,” replied Derek Hale. “This house is always open to family.” 

The door closed behind them.

 

LYDIA MARTIN

Lydia Martin stood on the balcony and let the cold wind tear at her hair and clothing. She wasn’t wearing a coat, and the Canadian winter could be cruel. She let herself feel the cold because she wanted to feel it. She need her mind clear and sharp because tonight was the point of no return. If she went ahead with what she planned, everything would change. And by everything, she meant the world according to Lydia Martin.

In this world, she woke up every day at eight, even though there was no requirement that she do so. She could have stayed in bed until lunch, if she really wanted to. Almost any duty she had was voluntary; there was little she _had_ to do. Never-the-less, she got up at that time every day without fail. Her discipline had become so much of a habit that she didn’t even need her alarm clock any more. Her body knew when it was time to get up.

One of the benefits of being trapped at a first-class resort was the quality of the facilities at her disposal. After waking up, she’d put on work-out clothes and walk down to the suite of top-of-the-market gymnasiums. The first day of her cycle, she would do yoga either with the resort’s instructor or through an internet video. On the second day, she would alternate between a stair machine and a stationary bike; she was up to five miles per session. On the third day, she would do a weight regimen in the gymnasium. The she would start the cycle over. She wanted to keep in shape but she didn’t focus on a specific workout goal; it wasn’t like she was training for the Olympics, after all.

Every day, like clockwork, she’d return to her room, sweaty but invigorated. There was nothing quite like a hot shower after you worked out. It was almost spiritual the way she could close her eyes and imagine that she was at home. She could almost believe that she could step out of the shower and smell the breakfast her mother was cooking downstairs. She could almost expect Prada to be tearing around her bedroom. She could think that her school work was waiting for her on her desk to grab and take to school.

But she couldn’t. Outside the shower was a different bedroom. There was no yappy little puppy. Her mother was not downstairs. It wasn’t a shabby room; it was actually one of the best rooms in the resort. She could not deny the luxury of the bed, the spectacular view of the Coast Range, the closet filled with fine clothing, and the vanity where she had everything she ever wanted. 

It just wasn’t home. 

Lydia paid even more rigorous attention to her clothing and make-up than she did at home. While there were days when she didn’t get completely dressed up or went without make-up, on those days she barely left the room. She was never going to allow the people who kept her here to think that she had given up or she was becoming comfortable. She was never going to allow _him_ to see her comfortable. 

She would come down and eat her breakfast in the resort’s restaurant. She meant to be seen by the people who watched over her. If she didn’t make an appearance at least once a day, they would come and knock on her door. She hated having people in her room. 

After breakfast, she usually went to work. She had her own private office in the management areas of the resort equipped with everything she needed. It gave her the illusion of privacy. It had a lock on the door and everything, but she wasn’t so stupid as to think that her captors did not check it at least once a week. Knowing how paranoid some of them were, she just assumed they checked it every day. She smirked often; as if they could find where and how she hid things. They were ruthless killers, not geniuses. 

Her work consisted mostly of vetting investment opportunities and potential commissions. There was a lot of money flowing through this resort, more than anyone who was only casually associated might think, and her input was valued on what he should invest in and what he shouldn’t. She had always given him good advice. The commissions, however, was where her skills were particularly valuable. She would read them and use both analysis and her own intuition to evaluate them for him. 

Lydia attempted to maintain calm detachment as she did this work. Being helpful – being useful – gave her an advantage in getting and concealing the things she needed to get done, done. It did help that everyone here, even the boss, underestimated her. Did they think she wouldn’t have grown after three years in captivity? It was obvious that they didn’t. That was their mistake.

After lunch, Lydia usually stayed in her office, but she didn’t have to. She could do anything except leave the resort, so she used that time to further her education. She had finished her high school online and had begun to take some online courses for her college degree. She also read books on many different topics. No one restricted her purchases when it came to books or online materials. If she felt like it, she would sometimes take a swim in the resort’s pool. 

It was nights that were the worst. _He_ insisted that she eat dinner with him. _He_ insisted that they talk. Sometimes he would insist that she make an appearance with him at the casino or at some function being held at the resort. Lydia obeyed every time and smiled insincerely every single time. She seldom mentioned the past and never mentioned her hatred for him. It was better that way. When she could return to her room, the night was long and slow and sad. She went to sleep early to repeat her regimen.

This day was special, however. She had planned carefully and moved even more carefully. She had laid false trails. She had raised no red flags. It had taken her three years to get to this day, and as confident as she was that she had did everything right, she was still nervous. The cold wind helped her focus, and she needed every bit of focus she could muster. 

Now came the real game. 

She pushed off the balcony’s railing and went back inside. The balcony gave a perfect view of the ski slopes and the mountain above it and so did the glassed in lounge of which it was a part. The fire roared in the vast circular fire place. It was too much – it reminded her of nothing more than a spy movie set – when it was just her in the room.

Only she wasn’t alone in the room. Lurking near one of the couches and looking like an extra in that bad spy movie was Terrence. He was the newest recruit, and he was flush with the power that he had gained. Lydia knew his type, of course. They wanted power and respect but they didn’t have the first clue how to gain it for themselves, so they were easy victims for anyone who offered it to them. Sometimes, they checked the fine print. But only sometimes. 

Terrence was dressed in the standard uniform for the pack: black slacks, a charcoal gray shirt, and a black blazer. When he moved, she could see the edge of the pistol he kept in a shoulder holster. Almost all of the workers at the resort were armed, but most of them didn’t flash it around like it meant something. He was of mixed race, handsome and tall, with a confidence that came from knowing that people found him attractive. Lydia had dealt with men like that before with little difficulty.

“Good evening,” she offered, giving him a tiny, tempting grin. She tended to harmlessly flirt with the more powerful of the people here, but only to keep their interest. No one here had anything she truly wanted.

“Hello, Ms. Martin.” Terrence was always very polite. He wasn’t a complete fool, as he understood that respect was very important to Lydia. “You look like you’re shivering.” 

“I needed a bit of fresh air before dinner, so I stood out on the balcony.” Lydia wasn’t technically lying. 

“You’ll catch yourself a cold doing that.” Terrence tried to sound suave while actually being concerned, but it didn’t work. He sounded like he was spouting practiced lines. 

“I think I know my own limitations,” she huffed. “I’ll know when I’ve gone too far.”

“Does anyone really know when they’ve gone too far until they face the consequences for it?” Terrence’s tone indicate that he was smitten. Lydia turned her head slowly to the side. This could be useful. 

“You certainly didn’t,” she replied, cattily. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He thought she was talking about her. As if she couldn’t have him and then kick his butt out of bed for eating crackers. Honestly.

“If we’re going to get serious, you should pour a girl a drink.” She glanced over to the bar. “I know there’s a 2009 La Prohibicion in the bar. That should do.”

She slid into the seat across from the lounge while Terrence poured the wine for her. She thanked him. “Now, show me your eyes.” 

Terrence cocked his head to the side. It was a movement she had seen before. He hesitated for a moment and then flashed his eyes at her. They were the brightest blue.

“Well, you’re fucked now.” She said with false pity. “You’re stuck.”

“What? What do you mean?” Terrence was taken aback.

“You’re eyes are blue. Every werewolf pack in the world knows you’ve taken an innocent life. Couple that with your relative youth, and you are going to be his for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m not his. I work for him.” Terrence was offended. What line had he been fed?

“He’s your alpha. You’re his beta. And you’ve killed for him. He told you what happens to omegas, didn’t he?” She barreled on. “Of course he didn’t. Why would he?” She clucked her tongue.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m sure he hit up all the high points, Terrene. Increased strength, increased speed, increased stamina, super senses, supernatural healing. And I’m sure he taught you control, but I’m also sure he didn’t tell you everything? You’re a pack animal now, Terrence. You need one, and if you don’t have one, you’ll be weak. You’ll have problems with control. You might even go feral.”

Terrence mulled that over, his face roiling in confusion, while Lydia sipped her wine. He stopped and then eyed her. He was trying to determine if she was making it up. 

“He didn’t talk about what happens if you left. I just thought it was more like a metaphor. You said there were other packs?”

“You don’t get it, do you? Did you think that all werewolves were like him?” She laughed at him, purposefully. “He’s a monster. No one is going to accept a young, blue-eyed werewolf turned by Peter Hale. You have two choices – serve him for the rest of your miserable life or go omega.” 

Lydia stood up and put the wine glass on the table as Terrence tried to work through what this meant. “Now, it’s time for dinner with the monster.” She patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry; there are worse fates.”

“How do you know this?” Terrence demanded.

Lydia wanted to scream in his face that she carried his goddamn soul in her head for a year, but that would not be smart. “I’m not here because I want to be, Terrence. I’m here because he won’t let me go. Just like he won’t let _you_ go. We have that in common.”

Terrence frowned as she slid off of the stool. “Think about it. I’m sure we’ll have other times to discuss this.” She moved with grace out of the lounge and down the hallway. She wasn’t sure how long her plan would take; it wouldn’t hurt to have a distraction ready.

Peter Hale had his own private dining table, even though it wasn’t private. It hung above the main dining room of the resort, encased in glass. Everyone saw the luxury he dined in and he saw that everyone saw. It was so tacky that Lydia could hardly breathe in it.

And they ate there. Every. Goddamn. Night.

“Lydia.” Peter had the same smooth, unctuous tone every time he met her. As if she wasn’t a prisoner. As if he wasn’t eating up her life one bloody mouthful at a time. 

She smiled back, as she always did. One day she would not have to. “Peter.” She knew he could smell her contempt. She hoped he’d choke on it. 

She took her place on the other side of the long table. It was so cliché. How could the proud scion of an ancient werewolf family have such horrible, horrible taste?

Tonight was a regular meal. Sometimes, Peter liked to entertain himself by getting the chefs to make something really special and to augment it with the best wines and yadda, yadda, yadda. He expected her on those nights to comment on it, and she found that it was easier for her to do so. When she disappointed Peter, she saw more of him. He would drop by the office, knock on the door to her room, and simply make a pest of himself for a few weeks. Acting impressed by his shows of wealth was easier than dealing with him sticking his snout into her cage.

Peter watched her from across the table. He looked like the Peter she had first met after he had kidnapped her. She knew, strangely enough, that his physical body was actually much younger. He had stolen Aiden’s body, but instead of looking like a person in his early twenties, he had shifted to regain his former mid-thirties appearance. She was curious how self-image worked for shapeshifters. She wasn’t curious enough to ask him about it.

“How are you doing today, my dear?” Peter asked. God, she hated his faux-polite endearments. So condescending.

“As well as I am every other day, Peter.” She said in a neutral tone.

Sometimes Peter grew frustrated with her stubbornness. He would launch into a long and annoying speech about how she should take advantage of what he was offering. She would never promise to try. 

“How do the commissions look?” He asked. Today was not a day where he was interested in playing with her.

Lydia took a shallow breath. She liked it much better when they focused on business. “The New York commission feels like a trap. I get the sound of microphone feedback and hushed conversations. I’d pass if I were you.” 

“It did seem a little simple,” Peter remarked. Lydia stopped her eyes from rolling. Peter thought of himself as an unstoppable criminal mastermind. He was not. He had always been rich; he had loyal werewolf assassin minions, and he had her. Take away any one of those things, and he’d probably be in jail or dead. 

“The Mexico City commission is not going to be profitable. We’ll probably lose everybody we send. Gunshots. Lots of gunshots.” 

“Betrayal?” Peter asked with just a hint of anger. A fang peaked out from between his teeth. 

“Not sure. No supernatural indication, but my research shows that the situation in Mexico City among the cartels is highly volatile. It could be a betrayal; it could be things spiraling out of control.”

Peter steepled his hands because this was turning into a bad 50s espionage movie and pretended to think it over. Lydia, by now, could read him. Peter was ruthless, but he was ruthless in the way that only men with everything to lose would be ruthless. He didn’t act unless he was absolutely sure of victory. “We’ll pass.”

Lydia picked up her wine glass. “As you wish.”

It was not like she gave orders to his pack of assassins. After fleeing Beacon Hills with his recovered millions, his pilfered body, and his enslaved banshee, Peter had come north to this place, this resort. It would be the cover for an international Murder, Inc., carried out by a number of lesser assassins and his primary cadre of supernatural assassins. His pack. 

It was simultaneously ludicrous and practical. Ludicrous, because it sounded like something out of a James Bond novel. Peter was busy building an international organization that performed assassinations and other less-than-savory tasks for money from a secluded lair in British Columbia. All it needed was Daniel Craig smashing in through the windows. But it was also practical. Peter Hale had resurrected himself after completing his revenge against the Argents and then helped to finish off Deucalion’s alpha pack. What other pack was going to offer him shelter? Who would not be suspicious of him for the rest of his natural and unnatural life? No one. The way of the outlaw was the only way left to him.

Lydia kept the vague smile on her face. Peter had dragged her into this life. He’d regret that.

“I’m very pleased, Lydia.” Peter said brightly over his own glass of wine.

“I’m glad,” she said, with just enough sarcasm in it to be convincing. 

“You should be; you’ve done great work. Would you like to see your parents?” Peter asked as if he was asking her to pass the salt. He was a bastard.

“My response, Peter, is the same as the first two times you asked me. No.” She bit off her rage. He wasn’t going to get a rise out of her.

“Why ever not?” Peter had never lost the sugary way he insulted you without directly insulting you. Lydia cataloged it with the rest of his enormous inferiority complex. She didn’t completely blame him, given what she knew of his history. It must have irked to be extraneous in a family as powerful as the Hales. 

Lydia turned her head to the side with a frown. “You know why. I would either have to lie to them about what I do here or make them ashamed of me. I’m a criminal.” She takes another sip of wine. “And if they acted like normal parents and tried to get me to leave or to rescue me, you’d kill them.”

“Regrettable but true.” 

“Then why ask?” Lydia struggled with a decision. If she was angry and it angered him, she might miss the meeting she was having tonight. If she wasn’t angry with his obvious baiting, he might grow suspicious. She decided to go with giving him what he wanted. “It’s not enough that you had your family destroyed, now you want to destroy mine as well?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed sharply, but it seemed that he was satisfied with her response. “Maybe.”

Lydia picked up her fork and knife and started cutting into her meat. She couldn’t remember what it was supposed to be tonight. “Well, I’m not going to give you that chance.” She hacked at the meat like it had personally offended her. 

When she looked up, he was still watching her. He wasn’t angry; he was smug. Lydia relaxed inwardly. He thought he had won. “What?” she demanded.

“I enjoy our time together. I am thinking about taking a trip to Europe. I’d like you to think about coming with me.” 

Lydia raised her eyebrows to cover her interior panic. “I shall certainly do so. I always wanted to visit Europe.” This could impact her plans disastrously.

The rest of the meal turned out to be filled with snippets of conversation that were better forgotten and quickly. Peter, it seemed, had mentioned Europe not because he had any real desire to go there but rather out of a desire to tweak her because she didn’t want to visit her parents. She carefully let her play around with her, but she relaxed as it went on. In her paranoia, she had forgotten just how much he needed to feel like he was in control. 

After she had gotten back to her room, she took a few minutes to compose herself. She was giving Peter’s regular behavior more significance then she should, given their history together. It was her behavior that had changed.

She took her laptop with her to the restroom and read over the instructions on it, one last time. She had already memorized the plan in its detail, and this was the only copy. After it was gone, she would have to be confident she knew what to do when. She was. She knew she was.

The resort had all the amenities, because that was how Peter wanted it, and that included a movie theater. Guest could watch movies free of charge. This night she made herself very visibly attend the showing with the other guests. It looked innocuous enough. The movie was _The Grand Budapest Hotel_. It had been nominated for an Academy Award. Lydia could barely pay attention to it, though no one sitting near her would have been able to tell.

When Monsieur Gustave died, she quietly excused herself and went to the theater’s restroom. It was the climax of the movie, and everyone was focused on the screen. She would miss it, but that was the point of all this. The women’s restroom was empty except for one other person, who was standing at the counter and putting on mascara. 

It took Lydia approximately 30 seconds to suspect that this was indeed her contact. She walked up right beside her, placed her clutch on the counter. The other woman didn’t even give her a glance but turned the cold water off and on. It was the pre-arranged signal.

Lydia opened her clutch and placed the flash drive on the counter between them before beginning to check on her make-up. If anyone came in, they would see two women doing what it was women did in restrooms. 

The other woman picked it up and slid it into her inner jacket pocket. 

“Everything that you need to do is described in detail on it, including places, people, and times. You can assume that if it is not mentioned in there, it is up to your discretion.” Lydia spoke with clarity and conviction. Reports of this woman made her sound reliable, but she was going to make it sound like she knew what she was doing so there was no temptation to cheat.

“And?” The other woman asked with an impatient lilt to her voice.

“And an account number for one-point-five million dollars American. The remaining half of the money will only be added to your account after the completion of what is on that drive.”

“If the money’s in account, then you can rest assured everything will be done as you wanted.” The woman looked her over. “I’ll admit, this might be the strangest job I’ve ever taken.”

“I was told that you didn’t have a problem with unique requests.” Lydia demanded.

“Nope.” The woman turned around and looked at her. “You do realize that I’d kill Peter Hale for one-fifth of what you are paying me, right? I’ve killed more dangerous people for less.”

Lydia took out her lipstick and redid her lips, even though they were already flawless. “If this was just about killing him, I’d do it myself. No one here could stop me. But Peter Hale’s death doesn’t give me the last four years of my life back. It doesn’t heal the families he destroyed or the friendships he ruined. It doesn’t, it can’t, change the fact that he rode me around like a bargain-basement horcrux for a year. I’ll never really be free of him. I don’t want revenge; I want _restoration_. I want the life he took from me, and if I can’t have that, I want a life greater than anything he had ever imagined. I need your help to do it.” 

The woman smiled at her speech. “I get that.”

“I’m confident in the plan,” Lydia stated. “I’ve crafted it with every bit of knowledge I possess and every bit of insight my nature gives me. But, that being said, it’s still dangerous. Are you willing to risk the fallout if it doesn’t work? It’s a lot of money, but is that much worth your life?”

The woman turned and winked at her as she left the bathroom. “Girl’s gotta eat.” 

 

SCOTT MCCALL

Scott lay sprawled out trying to read the GED study book; he wasn’t falling asleep but he wasn’t making any progress either. He couldn’t focus and wound up looking at the same page over and over again as if he was seeing it for the first time. There were many reasons that he couldn’t focus. One of those reasons was the bed itself; it was way too soft. The beds in Echo House were institutional in nature; comfort wasn’t the primary goal when they were designed. They were made to last; they were made to take punishment from those patients who were out of control; they were made to assist nurses when someone struggled against their restraints.

This bed was not any of those things; this bed was made to be comfortable. It was so comfortable that it made Scott uncomfortable. It felt weird, and it added to the distractions that he didn’t need when he was trying to study.

The primary distraction was that he didn’t really have the motivation to study. He didn’t want to take the GED. He _wanted_ to go back to high school and finish sophomore year and junior year and all those things he had missed. All those things he had daydreamed about while in the hospital. Regretting things that could never happen was childish, but it didn’t stop him from wanting them. His mind kept wandering to faint memories of sitting in classes when he looked at the book. What would completing the GED get him? 

He answered himself the only way he could: it could get him a job. He was absolutely looking forward to the no-doubt fun-filled process of finding a job. The interviews were going to be amazing. ‘So, what relative experience can you bring to our company?’ ‘I killed people with my bare hands.’

It all seemed so pointless.

The room itself increased his anxiety, though he was confident that was only because he wasn’t used to it yet. Derek had assured him that it was his room, and that he could do as he liked with it. No one else had ever slept in it since Derek had rebuilt the house, and that lack of history plus his own lack of things created an indeterminate emptiness that slithered under his skin. 

He’d been sleeping here for a week, and it should have been okay by now. It was his room only it didn’t feel like his room. _His room_ was either a Spartan institutional double he had shared with a revolving parade of uninteresting patients or the room in his mother’s house. _His room_ either had locks on the doors that were locked at nine and opened at eight or a window that he and Stiles could climb up to from the porch in the middle of the night. _His room_ either was filled with strange echoes throughout the small hours of the morning or filtered television sounds from his mother’s bedroom down the hall. This room was so quiet; it was empty of things. It was empty of history.

The house, too, was so quiet. Even though Derek’s master bedroom was down at the end of the hall, and the rooms on this level were claimed by Derek’s beta, none of them were back from school yet. He felt like a stranger squatting in someone else’s home, which, in a way, he was. Derek had tried his best to make him feel welcome without crowding him, for which Scott was grateful. The older werewolf had given him time and space and had never even so much as mentioned the word ‘alpha.’ Scott left his room with the sudden urge to talk to him.

Scott had to consider that maybe the size of the house contributed to his disquiet. On the second floor alone, there were eight bedrooms and two bathrooms, not including the master suite. The kitchen, the dining room, the living room were all sized for a large family. In addition, the first floor had a freaking library with an adjoining study. With just the two of them, it seemed hilariously empty to Scott. How could Derek stand it, day after day, wandering a house which was obviously built for a family that no longer existed? 

As he as searching, Scott realized he hadn’t seen Derek at all that day. Of course, he could smell him all over the house, but they hadn’t been in the same room. Fighting down some irrational fear, Scott listened for the sound of another heartbeat. He finally found Derek’s coming from below the living room which must have meant he was in the basement. Scott found himself hesitating at the top of the stairs down, before he remembered he didn’t need permission to go down there. There were no forbidden areas here.

The basement was fully furnished and pretty welcome, not a bit like the strange tunnels that had been under the old Hale House. If there were tunnels like that, they were carefully hidden. He followed his senses until he saw an open door with a light shining out into the hallway. 

Derek sat at a worktable with his back to the door. He worked, slightly hunched over, with a bright lamp shining down on the table. He wore a hands-free magnifier on his face that looked like a pair of oversized glasses. Scott watched his fingers move in a short, deliberate sweeping motion. Derek was taking a cotton swab carefully moving it up and down over what looked to be a doll. He looked at peace.

In fact, it _was_ a doll; in an amazing fact, it was actually a Doctor Barbie. The doll wasn’t in the best shape; it was missing its left leg and its left arm was warped and twisted as if by great heat. It had been covered in soot, which Derek was carefully wiping away. There was a box of doll parts next to him. Derek finally noticed his presence and looked up from his efforts.

Scott jumped at the attention. He hadn’t meant to disturb him. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find you.”

“It’s fine,” Derek said and took off the magnifier. “Did you need something?” 

“No. I … I just couldn’t study anymore tonight.” Scott admitted, and it was not a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. He kept stealing glances at the doll.

“It was Cora’s,” Derek said in way of explanation. “Or, technically, it is Cora’s, but she’s a little too old for dolls now.” There was a mournful quality to his voice. “I’m repairing it.” 

“Why?” Scott asked. “Is it valuable?” 

Derek shook his head. “I wanted to repair it. Cora might want give it to her daughter, if she has one. Otherwise, it’s just … good.”

Scott nodded. “Well, I’ll just go back upstairs. Watch some television.” He had no idea what he wanted to watch. 

“The rest of the pack will start coming back for the summer in a couple of days. Are you going to be okay with them here?”

Scott didn’t want to be a burden. “I’d better be.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it, Scott.” Derek replied easily. “You’ve not spent much time around other wolves. There’s going to be some adjustment.” 

“I’m the stranger here. This is their house.” Scott didn’t want to talk about the fact that he was a stranger. “So, do you do a lot of that?”

Derek looked back down at the table and let him change the subject. “Yeah. I’ve actually started a business. There are other workrooms down here.” 

Scott gave him a grunt of appreciation. “Not what I expected, honestly.”

“I started it as a form of meditation. It requires me to be patient and delicate.” Derek chuckled. “Neither of which were strengths for me, but I found I liked it.”

Scott felt the old urge to rebel. It was like an echo. “Doesn’t it bring up bad memories?” 

Derek put one finger on the doll’s hair, smoothing it out. “Ignoring the past doesn’t make it go away. You just bottle it up until it seeps out like a poison. On the other hand, letting the past rule you doesn’t make it any easier to handle either. I’ve found that you have to carefully and deliberately take the important parts that remain, clean them up, and then assemble a future out of them.”

Scott looked down. “Is that what this is about?” He meant the whole house. He meant Derek inviting him in.

“I am a Hale. My family was respected among packs across the entire country. My family loved each other deeply. These are things I want to reclaim.” Derek looked sad. “It’s weird that you can’t see the best of things when you are in the middle of them. I couldn’t see it, back then, and in response I did some terrible, terrible things. I see the truth now. It’s going to take work to fix.” 

Scott felt old terror and resentments stir under his skin. “Even Peter?” 

Derek turned off the light above the work station. “You didn’t know Peter before the fire. He was different. Still a troublemaker, but he was more mischievous than evil. If he was around and I could fix him, I would. If I could have that old Peter back, I would, but that Peter would never have done what this one did.”

“Do you want to fix me?” Scott felt the words leave his mouth before he could stop them.

“I’m trying. I don’t know if I can; you’re not a doll to be washed and put back together. I’ll do what I can, though, and what you’ll let me.”

Scott turned away and left the basement. He wasn’t ready for that type of discussion. Not yet. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready. There was part of him, an instinctual part that felt warm and comforted by what Derek had said. He supposed he could call it the wolf part of him. Then there was another part that hated it. It hated that it was necessary. 

Boyd, of all the other betas, was the first to come back. Scott hadn’t actually talked to Vernon Boyd while they were in high school together. Thinking back, he thought that it was because of two reasons. First, he had had his own things he had wanted to do and none of them seemed to require him to speak to Boyd. Second, it seemed that he remember believe that Boyd hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. In hindsight, maybe he misinterpreted loneliness for reticence.

He hadn’t realized Boyd was back until he was sitting in the kitchen making a sandwich for lunch, turned around, and there he was, standing in the doorway. Four years and the werewolf makeover had made him powerful, strong, and pretty damn silent. Boyd watched him impassively.

They watched each over from across the kitchen. Scott didn’t think he was intimidating holding a butter knife covered in mayonnaise in the air. “Hello.”

Boyd nodded. He didn’t say anything else but went to the refrigerator. 

“Uhm.” Scott grimaced and went back to making the sandwich. This was so awkward. “I didn’t know you were back.”

Boyd emerged from the refrigerator with a bottle of beer. Derek and Boyd both must like the taste. “Yup.”

Scott finished and put the sandwich on a plate. “I’m going to go … eat in the living room.” With that awkward observation, he started away. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go. “Oh.” He paused. “Uhm, thank you for visiting me that one time.” He did remember that Boyd had visited him. 

Boyd turned to watch him. “You’re welcome.” There was a pause. “Glad you’re out.” 

Scott shuffled into the living room to sit down at one of the couches. There were like three couches here, so no one could complain of being crowded. He flipped on the television to some movie; it looked like some old eighties action-adventure movie with Michael Douglas. 

Boyd came out and sat down on another couch. He still didn’t speak, but he didn’t seem to be objecting to the movie. They sat in silence. Scott munched on his sandwich and Body sipped at his beer. 

It would have been comfortable if they were friends, but Scott couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to talk. He was supposed to extend the hand of friendship and get the ball rolling, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things even more uncomfortable. After the movie was over, he handed the remote control over to Boyd and went outside for some fresh air. 

The last days of spring were burning hot and dry and he could hear the call of birds in the afternoon. He wandered around the yard and into the woods beyond. It was okay. It was a lot less uncomfortable than staring across the room as someone you had spoken less than a dozen words to.

After about half an hour later, he watched Derek arrive home. He saw him pull up in his SUV and enter the house. Scott thought it might be a good idea to ask for his advice on how to deal with Boyd, since he didn’t really know where to start. He went right up to the side of the house to work his way to the back door.

Faintly, he heard Boyd say through the walls of the house. “He’s not pack.”

This brought Scott to a stop. He didn’t know why he felt that way, but his chest got a little tight.

“Yes, he is,” replied Derek and there was just a timbre of command in his voice. Scott flinched at it.

“He doesn’t feel like pack.” Boyd did not use many words but he made each of them mean things. Scott wondered why they didn’t hear his heartbeat.

“He won’t. Not for a long time. If ever.” Derek answered and his voice grew louder. They were moving from room to room. “But the bond is there. It just doesn’t feel right to you because it’s incomplete.”

“Incomplete?” There was a request for explanation in his tone. Scott quieted his own heart and strained his ears to listen. He wanted to hear this as well.

“The link is there. The one between him and me that’s the same as the one between me and you, the one that makes me stronger. The one that makes you five stronger as well. In time, he’ll learn our scents and we’ll learn his. But that’s not all what pack is.” Derek’s voice was wistful. “Pack is also about trust, about empathy, about … about not needing walls between you and other people.”

“So it’s like friendship?” Boyd asked with what Scott could only imagine was a smirk.

“Yes and no. You don’t have to want to spend time with pack. You don’t have to have the same things in common with them. But when you are with them, there is no need to hide or to protect yourself.”

“And he doesn’t have that with us.” Boyd concluded. Scott felt ashamed, but he didn’t know why.

“No. And he might never have that with us.” Derek sighed. “It might not be possible for him to trust a wolf in that way. You know what happened.”

“Then why is he here?” It wasn’t said in malice. Boyd was being practical.

“Because I want him here. Because …” Derek trailed off.

“You’re not responsible for what your uncle did, Derek.” Boyd reasoned out loud. 

Scott had to agree. He didn’t blame the alpha for what Peter did. Peter had hurt Derek just as badly as he had hurt Scott. Derek did what he had to when he killed him. 

“I’m responsible for what _I_ did. Do you know about the first conversation I ever had with Scott?” Derek raised his voice not in anger but in self-reproach. “I lured him out into the woods with Allison Argent’s jacket and then threw him up against a tree. Then a couple of days later, I broke into his house, ambushed him, threw him up against a wall, and threatened to kill him. That was our second conversation. It took a couple more conversations before I told him I wasn’t the one that bit him.”

“Jesus Christ, Derek.” 

“You remember how I was with you when you were first bit? Take that, add in grief for my sister’s and alpha’s death and terror at the return of the Argents.” Derek’s tone didn’t imply the he was still upset. He was regretful, but not sad. “He was my only lead to the person who had killed Laura, so I bullied him into helping me. If I had treated Scott like a sixteen-year-old boy who was turned into a monster against his will rather than treating him like he was a means to an end, maybe things would have ended differently.” 

Boyd didn’t say anything for a moment. “Okay.”

“I won’t make the same mistake twice. He’s my beta, but that could change any day. He’s a hair’s breadth from being omega. I can’t treat him like I treat you and the others. I can try to nurture, and I can try to guide, but I will not command.” 

Scott pulled away from the house. Nothing about what Derek had said had made him angry, because it was all true. He listened to the way Boyd spoke to Derek. They weren’t equals, but there was respect. He wished he could feel that way, but he didn’t. Every time he tried to think of Derek that way, he remembered Peter instead. He remember that his alpha was a monster. He remembered the pain and the beatings and the touches. He remembered the blood and the bodies and the ripped-off limbs. 

Scott sat down with his back against the tree, shaking. It took him a few hours before he could back inside. Derek and Boyd never said a word about it.

It was only two awkward and quiet days later that things changed once again. If he thought navigating around the silent Boyd was difficult, Isaac and Erica were not silent. They were loud and inquisitive and happy to be done with the semester. 

Erica nearly tackled Boyd when she came into the living room when she got back. Well, she would have tackled him if he wasn’t built like a wall. “Oh, how I missed you! How is airplane school?”

Scott raised both eyebrows. He hadn’t thought to ask what Boyd was going to college for. Erica caught him out of the corner of her eye and peeled herself off of her boyfriend. “Oh, hey. Welcome.” 

“Hi,” Scott replied, a little bashfully. Erica was a lot better looking than she had been when he had known her before the bite. “I didn’t know you were going to airplane school, Boyd. You going to be a pilot?”

“No. Aeronautic technician,” Boyd corrected. “I’m going to fix airliners.” 

“Not as easy as it sound,” said Erica as she disappeared into the kitchen. 

Scott responded with “Cool” and went to sit back down on the couch when Erica popped her head back into the room. “Don’t get comfy. I need you two to help us with unpacking.”

Boyd lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” Erica pointed at them both. “Come on, you two.” 

Scott wasn’t actually sure how the car got back there from the college all the way across the state as stuffed full as it had been. This was not exaggeration. Boxes and suitcases were crammed into every spare corner and then clothes were pushed into the cracks between them to utilize more room. In the front, there was only enough room for two people to sit but not comfortably.

“Where’s Isaac?” Boyd looked around, obviously trying to find someone else to help. 

“He’s taller than me and complained the whole way home that he was sooooooo cramped. He told me he needed to run around a bit,” Erica explained, rooting through the car. “Stop bellyachin’ and start grabbing stuff.”

Scott didn’t see any reason not to and just started taking boxes and having Erica pile more clothes on top of them. They weren’t heavy, but they were bulky. “How will I know what’s yours?”

“Doesn’t matter. Put them in my room; Isaac will get what he needs when he needs.” 

Scott shrugged and nodded. He could see why she asked them to help. There was a lot of stuff. A lot of loose stuff. He wondered how she would even fit it in her closet and dressed, as big as they were. After the final load, he turned to leave the room and she stopped him.

“So, you’re right across the way?” She asked, brightly. 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Great. That’s going to be great.” Erica walked over and opened the door to his room without even asking him. “Are you a monk?”

“Uh, no.” Scott walked behind her. “I just … I just don’t have much stuff.” She was like a force of nature.

“Well, you at least need something on the walls.” She walked in and picked up the GED book. “Oh, god. My condolences. Ugh. So where are you thinking about going to school?”

“I … I hadn’t thought about that.” Scott replied. He was still nervous and awkward and Erica just _did not care_. 

“If you want to, you should come with us to Chico. CSU is great. You, me, and Isaac can get an apartment together. The dorms are such a pain in the ass.” She nodded. 

“I don’t know …”

“I mean it. The dorms suck.” Why did Scott get the feeling that he was being shanghaied? “So how long have you been here?”

“Just a week,” he said. “I’m sort of getting used to everything.”

“What’s there to get use to? Without the Best Betas Ever this place is so dull. Derek never wants to do anything but act bossy and clean up old junk.” She flopped herself on his bed.

Scott put his hands in his pockets. “Things like being able to go outside at night? Showering when I want to? Not having to dodge orderlies?”

Erica’s enthusiastic assault failed for approximately one moment. “I see. Don’t worry, I’ll show you around. We should go to that new coffee place down by the school.”

“Okay.”

“Cool. It’s a date.” Erica bounced off the bed and went back towards her room. “Come, help me unpack.”

Scott hesitated. 

“You have anything else to do?” Erica asked, batting her eyelashes. 

“Uh, no, not really.”

Scott was in the middle of folding Erica’s socks and putting them in her drawers when Isaac Lahey walked into the room. He took one long look at Scott and then fixed his gaze on Erica, who was pulling books out of a duffel bag, which was pretty odd in itself.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Isaac sighed. 

Erica looked up from what she was doing. “What? I didn’t do anything.” 

Isaac smirked and took Scott by the elbow. “Come on. I’m rescuing you. If you do this, she’ll never stop. You might as well wear a butler’s costume.”

Scott let himself be led out of the room as Erica called after them: “Do butlers have particular uniforms? I just thought they wore formal suits.” She kept shouting as they went down the staircase. “I think you’d make a cute butler, Scott. Just sayin’!”

Scott was a little befuddled. Okay, so he was a lot befuddled, but he certainly preferred Erica’s approach to him as opposed to Boyd’s caution. It was nice to be peripheral to someone’s concern for a little bit at least.

“Erica can be pretty overwhelming,” Isaac observed as they entered the kitchen. “Don’t hold it against her.”

“I don’t,” Scott said. “There’s nothing wrong with being confident.” As an afterthought, he muttered. “I’m not made of glass.”

“She spent a lot of her life not being able to do anything,” Isaac stuck his head into the fridge. “Now that she can do things, it’s hard to get her to stop. It can be pretty frustrating though.”

“Are you guys … together?” Scott thought from the way she acted when she came in, that she was with Body, but Isaac and she had all their stuff mixed together.

“No. Oh, no. We’re just good friends.” Isaac pulled out with two sodas and handed one to Scott. “She relies on me to pull her back when she goes too far. I don’t mind. She keeps me from isolating myself.”

Scott opened the soda and took a sip. “Was that what she was doing with me?”

“No. She was using you to unpack her stuff. It seldom occurs to her that people might not want to do things.” Isaac dug back into the refrigerator. “Jesus, Derek, haven’t you ever heard of between-meal snacks? All this healthy shit. We’re bloody werewolves.”

Scott heard the fondness in Isaac’s voice. He went and leant up against the kitchen island. It was only then that he realized what was going on here, between Derek and Boyd and Isaac and Erica. They were a family. He remembered Derek’s observation to Boyd. It was true. There was only one piece here that didn’t fit.

“What the hell is summer sausage?” Isaac pulled an unopened package from one of the cabinets. He turned and looked for a knife to cut it open and then stopped. “Uh, hey. Are you okay?”

Scott nodded but he was not sure why Isaac was asking him. He rubbed his hand over his face and realized that it was wet. Oh. 

“It’s okay not to be okay.” Isaac observed and started chopping up the sausage.

Scott felt exposed and vulnerable and so he snapped. “Are you okay?”

“No. But I’m getting there.” Isaac flipped him a piece of meat. The other beta didn’t continue with that sentence. Scott didn’t know why he wasn’t okay; he had barely met Isaac on the team. But then again, Isaac didn’t really know why Scott wasn’t okay. Maybe they didn’t need to. 

After a few minutes of silent munching, Isaac turned to him with an interrogatory tone. “You called your parents yet?”

“No.” Scott admitted to him, even though there was no reason to do so. “I’m not quite sure what to say.”

Isaac shrugged. It seemed he wasn’t going to offer any more advice today. “This summer is going to be a bitch, I think.” He said around cuts of sausage.

“Why for you?”

“I’m going to have to find another job. I kinda like my old one, but I don’t think Doc’s going to want to have both of us working there.”

It took Scott a moment to think it through. “You’re working at the clinic?”

“Was. Now that you’re back, I guess I’ll put some applications into fast food restaurants. I think the Wendy’s is hiring.” 

“You don’t have to quit just because I’m out,” Scott protested. He didn’t know why, but he felt bad about it. 

“No, no. Dr. Deaton told me that the job was just temporary while you were in Echo House.” Isaac had been the first one to actually say the name of the hospital, and he said it so casually and neutrally that it didn’t sound like an insult. “I mean, after high school, I only worked there during the summer.”

“But …” 

“If you don’t want it, that’d be great. I hate job hunting.” 

“No, I mean, I don’t know. I didn’t even know I was getting out until a few weeks ago. I didn’t think I would be getting out.”

Isaac shrugged and got out the saran wrap. He had devoured half the sausage. “Doc said that wouldn’t matter.”

Scott nodded. “Well, I’m going to take your advice and call my parents now.” He had to get out of the kitchen before he started crying again. _Wow._ He hadn’t expected Isaac, of all people, to be the one that affected him this much. He thought that would come later, when the pack’s emissary showed up.

He went into the study. It was the most private room, though had been built for a werewolf pack, and they obviously had different standards for that. It also had, for some reason, a land line. Scott hoped that people wouldn’t listen too much, but he guessed he had to get used to it. Privacy didn’t seem to be that big a thing here.

He had looked up his parents new phone number one night on Derek’s laptop. He did need to call. He was pretty sure they had been notified of his release, and, well, there were logistics that had to be seen to.

“Hello. McCall residence.” His father’s voice sounded … the same. Like nothing had happened.

“Hi, Dad.” He hadn’t been lying when he had told Isaac that he didn’t know what to say. What do you say at a time like this? Even when they had visited him in Echo House, he had let his parents control the flow of the conversation. 

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line. “Scott. They let us know you had gotten out.” In his father’s voice was an attempt at studied neutrality. Scott hadn’t expected an enthusiastically warm response from his father, but at least he didn’t hang up the phone. It was exactly how he behaved when he had visited.

“I know. I just thought I should let you and mom know where I was. I’m staying with a friend here in Beacon Hills.” 

“Well, that’s nice. It’s good to know.”

Scott swallowed. It was like talking to an administrator at the hospital. “I was wondering … well, I was hoping to see you and Mom sometime soon.” He really wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was what he should be doing. “I could come down and visit.”

“Your mother is at work right now, Scott. I’ll have to talk it over with her.” His father did work for the government. That was a bureaucratic dodge if he ever saw one. 

“Okay. When do you think would be a good time?” Scott hoped it would be soon; it would be like ripping the bandage off.

“How about on your birthday?” 

“Dad, that’s six months away.” 

“It’s going to be an adjustment for all of us. It’s … well, there is something to be said …”

“Oh. Oh, I understand.” He didn’t mean it to come out so bitter, but it just did. This isn’t exactly what he had feared, but it wasn’t exactly open arms.

“What do you want me to say?” His father sounded irritated. 

_I want you to say you love me even though I’m a monster. I want you to say that no matter what happened, I’m still your son._ Scott bit his lip instead. “I know it’s going to be rough.” 

There was that long pause again. “It will be. I’m sure we’ll make it work somehow.”

There are few more small-talk promises before Scott hangs up, but it is a shorter conversation than he expected. Scott never felt secure talking to Rafael before the werewolf/psycho murderer thing. It wasn’t like that had magically fixed itself over night. Or in four years. _Whatever._

After that conversation, Scott went to his room. He had enough stress for one day, and he was so emotionally tired that he just took a nap. He didn’t go down to dinner, but others must have heard the conversation, because no one pressed him on it.

The next few days were spent getting used to the new rhythm of the house. Boyd and he circled each other carefully, but it was not too awkward as Boyd spent the least out of time in the house. He had a family and spent significant amounts of time then. Erica didn’t relent in her efforts to include Scott, dragging him to coffee houses, movies, and just ‘out’ most frequently with Isaac in tow. However, even she had to go spend time with her family. Isaac was the only person who spent all his time here. It seemed that Isaac was estranged from his father the same way that Scott was estranged from his parents. Though not for the same reason though. 

He had called Deaton one day. The conversation was brief. Deaton offered for him to start working again. It was a short conversation; Deaton felt that what needed to be said between them could wait until they were face to face. He would be starting the next Monday. Scott looked forward to it.

It was Saturday evening after dinner, and Scott was once again his room, trying with much more success this evening to read the GED book. He heard the door open and a whispered conversation, but he put it out of his mind. Privacy could not rely on walls in a werewolf household; it relied on trust. You didn’t want to eavesdrop, you didn’t listen.

He couldn’t help but hear when a female voice he didn’t recognize lifted up in irritation. “Get your ass up those stairs before I pick you up, carry you up there, and throw you at his door. God!” The timber and the tone were so early Derek that Scott had no doubt it was his sister, Cora. 

So, it was going to happen tonight. Scott took a breath and held it. It was a meditation technique he had learned from Ms. Morrell. In due time, he could hear the peculiar gait of a person with an artificial leg in the hallway. Scott closed his eyes and let out the breath. He was sure of this. He was sure of what he had to do.

The door opened and Stiles came into is room. All his calm evaporated, and Scott nearly threw the book at him. _Typical._

“Don’t you knock?” Scott asked with as neutral a tone as he could. 

“I have to knock?” Stiles answered. Scott could smell the sour stench of anxiety almost immediately. 

“Yes, you have to knock. Wouldn’t you knock before going into Erica’s room or Derek’s room?”

“Well …” Whatever else Stiles had been about to say trailed off into silence. They stared at each other, Stiles unsure of what to do next and Scott knowing what he wanted to do but trying to gather the courage to do it. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Scott gestured to the chair across the room. Again, he tried to keep his voice neutral. He didn’t want Stiles to get the wrong impression. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” Stiles heartrate, which had been beating wildly, suddenly slowed and his expression dropped to guarded. He must have learned something from Dr. Deaton and Dr. Morrell over the years. 

“So, you’re Derek’s emissary.” Scott said. 

“I am.” There was a hint of pride in his voice and unspoken words. _I am the pack’s emissary. I am your emissary._

“That’s nice.” Scott was disappointed in his performance so far. He had practiced this.

“Nice? I think you could say a hell of a lot more than that,” Stiles’ voice went up half an octave as he visibly forced himself to be the Stiles from freshman year. “I’ve learned to be a badass master of secrets and unhelpful sayings.” 

Scott silently thanked Stiles for giving him the opening he needed. “You never change.” 

“That’s good right?” Stiles said hopefully, finally sitting down on the chair.

Scott straightened up and put the book he was working on carefully to one side. “No, it’s not. I don’t want to hear any more sarcasm from you.” 

“Uh.” The plain rebuke was not what Stiles was expecting.

“I never liked your fucking sarcasm, Stiles. I put up with it. You’ve never figured out that sarcasm is your funny way of saying ‘I don’t care what you think, Scott’ or ‘I don’t care what you feel, Scott.’ Or maybe you did know that, but you just didn’t give a damn. What you may not have known is that I didn’t put up with it because I loved you calling me an idiot every time you opened your mouth; I put up with it because I was your friend. So, quit it.”

Stiles’ face was the face of someone who knew beforehand that the medicine was going to taste terrible and found that it totally, completely did. “You’re mad at me. I can understand that …”

“I’m not mad at you.” Scott replied. It was true. It was a lot worse than that.

“I didn’t visit you in Echo House when you were there. I know that. I know that makes me a terrible friend, and I really don’t have any excuse but …”

“Of course, you do.” Scott replied. “But you don’t have to make any. You don’t owe me anything.” Scott glanced down at Stiles’ prosthesis. “And I don’t owe you anything.” 

Stiles did something Scott did not suspect. He sat in chair and thought rather than felt. At this point, Scott assumed he would start yelling defenses or accusations, anything to bully Scott into taking that back.

“That sounds awfully final, Scott,” Stiles said carefully. “Are you sure you’re not mad?” 

“I haven’t been angry with you for two years.” There had been a period of three months where he had almost got himself sent to the Closed Ward because the wolf was so near the surface in its rage. He had been surly and snappish every day that went by and his so-called ‘best friend’ ignored his existence. “I haven’t hated you for eighteen months, at least. You get to think a lot when you have nothing else to do. I came to some conclusions.”

Stiles folded his hands in his lap. Stiles had changed; Scott realized it was inevitable that he would have had to. He wavered, but then he realized that this new Stiles must have been just as new this last winter, this last spring, before anyone knew he was being released. And he still hadn’t come. The new Stiles simply had more control.

“May I ask what those are?” Stiles exerted that control to keep his voice level. They were trying to out-mature each other.

“The only one that’s important …” Scott took another focusing breath. “The only one that matters now is that I don’t want to be your friend.”

Stiles blinked once. And then again. He shook his head as if he didn’t understand what Scott had just said. “We’re friends …”

“No, we’re not. You can’t act as if I don’t exist for four years and then call us friends. You don’t know a thing about me, about what I’ve been through. I don’t know a thing about you, what you’ve been through. We’re different people. We’re not strangers, but we’re not friends.”

“Scott.” Stiles thought for a moment. “Even if it as you said and we’re not friends, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends again. I would like that.”

“But why, Stiles, would I want to be friends with you?” The bitterness slipped out before he could stop it. Scott had promised himself that he wouldn’t try to hurt Stiles. 

“Scott.” The mask cracked and there was hurt in between there. Maybe there was loneliness. “I couldn’t visit you … I … I couldn’t bring myself to visit you …”

“I know why you couldn’t visit me. I figured it out long ago.” Scott had little else to work on when in there. “I used to say that you only cared about a few people, but I never thought about why that was true. But I figured it out. You don’t love people, Stiles; you own them. They’re your property, and you protect them fiercely and without regret, but only as long as you can exert control over their lives. You couldn’t exert control over me in Echo House, so you weren’t interested.”

Stiles pushed himself up. “That’s not true. I felt guilty because I couldn’t do anything about what happened to you.”

“Listen to yourself. You felt guilty because you couldn’t do anything, so you decided that the answer to that was to abandon me. Even though I needed you more than anyone else. It didn’t matter to you that I was trapped and alone, the only thing that mattered to you was how you felt about it. You felt helpless, so you just avoided the problem, even though that meant avoiding me.” Scott fought to keep the anger out of his voice; it was hard because of the memories this conversation brought back. He didn’t want to give Stiles the wrong impression. 

Stiles opened his mouth to defend. “Scott, I’m sorry, okay. I knew I should’ve visited. It was just hard.”

Scott went on implacably. “This isn’t new behavior for you, Stiles. You say you don’t treat people like property, but you always have. You’re good to them as long as they do what they’re supposed to. Remember when you punished me for your father getting hurt in the school parking lot? You tried to turn me into a superhero, but I didn’t live up to your expectations. So you had me beaten. When servants don’t behave as they do, you punish them.” Scott took a breath. “That’s how you control people.”

“That’s not what I did!” Stiles exclaimed. “Yeah, I fucked up, but …”

“Tell me, Stiles. The pack has mentioned, casually, that you get angry every time you don’t do every single thing you say. Do you still micromanage your father’s diet even though he’s an adult human being? Do you still violate his privacy by reading his mail and listening to his phone calls? Because, contrary to the bullshit that he’s been letting you get away with, normal people would think that’s a problem. Do you still lie to him with every other breath? Was it you who told him about all this werewolf stuff? I’m betting not.”

Stiles was getting angry. “You don’t get to talk about how I treat my father. That’s between him and me.” 

Scott relaxed on the bed. “But you can tell me how to be a werewolf.” He took one more calming breath. “But that’s the point. I didn’t want to fight with you. I just don’t want to be your friend. I don’t need someone else in my life who tries to control me, and the only way you feel safe with a person is if you can order them around and ignore their boundaries.” 

“We were best friends for years. I helped you when your dad left; you helped me when my mom died. You really want to throw that all away?” 

Scott growled at Stiles. “Don’t bring up your mother; she’s been dead for twelve years. You can no longer claim first place in the Trauma Olympics. God, you always know how to play that card, don’t you?”

“I’m not playing a card. I know I’m fucked up. How many times do I need to say that? How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

“There aren’t enough times. I don’t need a friend who will betray me because I’m no longer useful and they feel bad about it.” Scott grabbed his book and opened it up to signal that the discussion was over.

Time passed. They didn’t talk, but both of them knew they were handling emotions on the inside. 

Finally, Stiles broke the silence. “Is my role in the pack going to be a problem?” 

Scott looked up. “No, Emissary. It won’t.”

Stiles got up and left, closing the door behind him. Scott let out a breath and reached back down into his own mind. Did this make him feel better or worse? The answer wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t really what he wanted to discover.

It didn’t make him feel anything at all.

 

SHERIFF NOAH STILINSKI

When you were a police officer, you learned to appreciate boredom. Noah Stilinski had learned that particular lesson long ago when he tried to balance his duties as sheriff with his duties as a husband to a dying woman and a father to son who didn’t quite understand what was happening. The best days were the days when you stared at your desk and whined to yourself that you had way too much paperwork. Because those days meant that someone else’s day was peaceful. No one’s lives were ruined. No one was going to get hurt. No one was going to die.

It became an inside joke at the station, especially after the trouble that had happened only a few years ago. The deputies and he would complain in an exaggerated manner about the lack of criminals but there would always be a knowing wink. Most of them had been around during those years; they knew that no matter how dull things could get, the opposite was so much worse.

Sheriff Stilinski got down to that day’s work. He had to go over and sign off on every completed case for the last week. He would need to read over each one and sign there and sign there and sign there. He didn’t read very closely as he did so; he mostly just checked to see if everything was filled out. After all, he trusted his deputies. 

He had just finished signing off on a routine traffic stop when there was a knock on his door. “Come in!” It must be important as he maintained an open door policy.

“Sheriff,” Deputy Graeme entered the room followed by a young man with mousy blond hair whom he did not know. “You’re going to want to hear this. It’s a special case.”

Noah froze in his chair. ‘Special case’ meant supernatural. Not all of his deputies knew about the stranger cases they had had to deal with and none of them knew the full truth, but some of them he had trusted with specific things to look out for. They were supposed to bring them to him immediately. Tara Graeme had worked with him since he became sheriff; she was less an employee than a friend of the family, so she had been one of the first deputies he had brought into the penumbra of secrets.

The young man accompany probably Stiles’ age. He wasn’t very remarkable clad in a polo shirt and generic jeans; Noah’s eye would have slid right over him if he was looking at a crowd of young people. Not everyone, the sheriff thought, can be exceptional. Not everyone can be special. That didn’t mean it wasn’t worth listening to them.

“Why don’t you tell me what is going on?” The sheriff supplied his best reassuring demeanor.

“My name is Ephraim Greenberg,” said the young man earnestly. It seemed almost ritualistic to him to introduce himself like he was used to people not knowing his name. “I saw the strangest thing when I was getting a half-caf latte at Starbucks.” 

Deputy Graeme glowered at the young man, which Noah took to mean that what the man had to say was important and he should get to the point. The sheriff simply waited patiently.

“I saw Scott McCall walking down the street! You know the guy who was put in the insane asylum for all those killings a few years ago? I recognized him because he was on the lacrosse team with me. With your son. Yeah.” Greenberg was getting a little unfocused as if the idea of something big happening to him was confusing.

“I know, son,” Noah replied casually, “I was there. That’s not …” Before he could continue, Tara flashed him a signal to be patient.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course you were. Sorry. I mean, it’s so weird. He was walking down the street and this van pulled up right next to him. It wasn’t like an SUV or anything, it was a van-van, an old style van from the nineties or something!” 

The sheriff took a deep breath. Young people had the weirdest definitions of ‘old.’ 

“And this van pulled up, the door opened, and whoever was in it just shot him! Just shot him like that. Bang! But it wasn’t any blood. McCall just fell over, twitching. Then the woman grabbed him and pulled him into the van.”

The sheriff stood up behind his desk. The man’s ridiculous story had just become dangerous. “I need you to start from the beginning …”

The sheriff listened while Greenberg told the story once again. The details, what little there were, didn’t change. Noah narrowed down what he could by asking a few questions. Scott McCall was walking down the street when a van pulled up. The door opened and a woman concealed by a ski mask shot him with a military-strength stun gun. She then pulled his body into the van and drove off. 

Leaving Greenberg in his office, he and Tara emerged into the bullpen. “Listen up!” All the deputies that were on duty suddenly focused on him. “We have a kidnapping. Someone just yanked Scott McCall off the street in the middle of broad daylight and into a blue panel van on Carroll Avenue. I need you, Ramirez, to get our witness in there to give a formal statement. Folda and Mince, you need to canvas the area to see if you can find any other witnesses. Peterson and Kaplow, I want you to check the location for any security cameras that could have seen even caught a glimpse of this.” He saw the look of consternation on some of their faces. “Look, we treat this as any other abduction, but you all know what this probably is. We’re on a clock, people, and I want answers. Graeme, you’re with me.”

The sheriff and his senior deputy walked outside. “I’m going to need to run out to the Hale House. I need you to do a favor for me.” He made sure no one was close enough to overhear. “This is a special case, but I don’t know how special. I need you to go to the Argent house and request that Victoria Argent accompany you to the Hale House as well. If her husband is there, he can come to.”

Graeme nodded. She didn’t know the full truth, but she knew enough. “I figured when McCall was involved. I’ll do it.” 

Noah patted her on the shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re here. I’d hate to do this alone.” He got into his car and drove toward the Hale House. He put in a call while driving – silencing Stiles’ nagging voice about using the phone in the car – to Alan Deaton, asking that he meet him there as well. This was fortunate, as he found out that Scott had been on his way to see Deaton, but had never arrived. He called Derek and warned him next.

Derek was waiting for him at the door. Before he could even get up from the porch, the alpha was saying, apologetically. “I offered to give him a ride, but he turned me down. Do you know anything?” 

The sheriff nodded and gestured to go inside. It was just Derek’s way to take the blame for it. “It’s the strangest damn thing I’ve ever heard. It looks like a professional abduction on the surface, but it’s got to be the worse professional abduction I’ve ever seen.”

The rest of the pack was waiting in the living room. Everyone but Stiles was sitting on one of the couches. They were excited and anxious, but they did not particular stricken. They had barely met Scott, and they didn’t have a clear understanding of what was going on. Stiles stood near the entrance, his arms crossed, a grimace of concentration plastered on his features. 

“Derek,” Noah started after he had gone over the bare facts; he had been taught how to handle pack dynamics by Stiles, so he knew to address the alpha first. “I’ve taken the liberty of summoning Alan and Mrs. Argent here. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Stiles shot his father a surprised look when he mentioned Alan Deaton. The other betas roiled at the mention of the Argents. 

Derek furrowed his brow as he felt his way through it. “You don’t think the Argents did it.” It was a conclusion.

“Pulling him into a van in the middle of the street in broad daylight? Whoever did it wanted it known that he’d been kidnapped. The Argents would know that they’d be the first place we looked.”

“And if anyone could have lured that dumbass into a more secluded spot, it would have been Allison,” Stiles grumbled. “Anyone know if she’s back?”

The sheriff rolled his eyes at Stiles who shrugged. Noah thought that this wasn’t the time for his son to express his frustration with his former friend. 

Derek pretended not to hear Stiles’ outburst. “So we don’t have any leads so far?”

“We have a witness. My people are treating this seriously, but I wanted to bring all the experts together in one room. It’s the best way to get answers quickly.” He glanced at the clock. “I want to be on top of this before I bring in the FBI.”

Cora did a double take from where she sat next to Erica. “FBI?”

Stiles sighed in irritation. “Scott’s dad is an agent. They’ll crawl all over this town whether the jackass wants to have anything to do with his son or not. Probably more if they think Scott’s gone off the deep end again.”

Stiles’ observation was caustic enough to put everyone on edge. It was cruel, but it was also correct. Scott had been driven to kill before; there was nothing that said someone wouldn’t try to do it again.

“Stiles, that’s not helpful.” Noah knew that there Stiles hadn’t taken Scott’s declaration well, but his attitude was getting in the way.

“Why else would someone want to take Scott?” Isaac asked from his position on the couch. 

“Revenge.” Boyd put in as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Someone might think it was wrong for him to get out especially if they thought he killed one of their relatives.” 

The sheriff frowned looked down at the floor before his feet. “That is a possibility.” 

Derek walked over to the fireplace considering the consequences of that. “Sheriff, what do you want the pack to do?”

Everyone turned to face Derek when he said that. “I was just coming here to let you know, Derek. I’m not sure what you _can_ do. I’d ask if you could track by scent but …” 

Derek shook his head. “The circumstances would make tracking by scent virtually impossible. None of us know it well enough and if the van drove out of town there would be no place to pick it back up. If you get more information, though, Sheriff, I’d like to know.” The betas looked up at Derek at the tone of determination in his voice. “He’s pack. We don’t abandon our own.” 

Boyd stood up. “Look. I don’t want to sound callous, but I’ve been thinking about this. How did he get out of Echo House?” 

There was a knock on the screen door. It was Alan Deaton with another remarkably timed entrance. “I believe I can answer that question. May I come in?”

Derek indicated that Alan could with a node. “The circumstances of Scott’s release seemed odd to my sister, Marin, so she informed me of her suspicions. I investigated as well as assisted her in her own investigations. We believe that Eichen House’s Board of Directors was influenced in its decision by outside agents. We have no proof of this, but his release was handled unusually.” 

Derek frowned. “So someone wanted him out. Someone needed him out for this to happen. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“All Marin and I had was speculation and disquiet. I didn’t say anything to you …” Alan said in defense.

“Because you wanted him out,” Isaac finished when it looked like the veterinarian wasn’t going to.

Alan did not look at Isaac but caught Derek’s eyes. He looked unapologetic.

“Well, that’s just great,” Stiles suddenly burst out. His anger was palpable. “So, there’s a secret conspiracy to get him on the streets so they could snatch him up and use him for whatever convoluted nefarious scheme that’s going to get more people killed. What a pain in the ass. Maybe it would have been better if he had stayed feral.”

Noah Stilinski took three quick steps and slapped his son right across the face. “Outside!”

The entire living room went deadly quiet at the echo of that slap. The betas were stunned by the sudden turn. The veterinarian pretended it didn’t happen but Derek was staring at the sheriff.

Stiles’ hand flew to his cheek. “Dad …”

“I said outside!” Noah frog-marched Stiles out to the front porch, though he did compensate for Stiles’ leg. He was livid but he waited until they were out of sight of the people inside. Though if they wanted to listen in, there wasn’t anything the sheriff could do about it. 

Noah turned Stiles around, manhandling him in a way he hadn’t for a long, long time. “What the hell is wrong with you? You know what? I don’t care what the hell is wrong with you. I really don’t. This is a serious matter, and I don’t know what you think you are doing.”

Stiles was as stunned and as humiliated as could be expected. It had been a long time since his father had smacked him. “Why did you do that?”

“This isn’t playtime, Stiles! Scott’s life is in danger, and only thing you seem to care about is getting a few digs at Scott’s expense because he pissed you off. Well, suck it up. You’re not a sophomore anymore. You have responsibilities. If you can’t, or won’t, treat those responsibilities with the respect they deserve, you can go.”

“ _I’m_ this pack’s emissary.” Stiles grated out. 

“Then start acting like it! Provide the support and the insight they need. Stop using this crisis as an excuse to make yourself feel better because Scott hurt your feelings! Maybe this is why he didn’t want to be your friend, because he’s in mortal danger and you’re making it all about you!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Stiles protested. “Everything I said was true.”

“True, but irrelevant to the situation. Don’t play dumb with me, Stiles. You know what you’re doing, and I _certainly_ know what you’re doing. I let you get away with your behavior for years. I’d have hoped you outgrown it.” The sheriff grumbled. He knew, in his own heart, that he was doing the same thing: burying his guilt by taking it out on stiles. But he also knew when to dial it down. “So, are you going to back in there and help, or are you going to leave?”

Stiles got that look on his face when he realized he had gone too far. It was part remorse for his actions and part terror that perhaps he had finally went too far. “I’ll help.” 

 

VICTORIA ARGENT

“Thank you for the ride, deputy.” Politeness cost Victoria nothing, and she respected women who handled themselves with grace and professionalism under difficult circumstances. It also wouldn’t hurt to have an ally in the police department.

“Thank you for the information,” Deputy Graeme said with just a hint of disapproval in her voice. Victoria didn’t blame her. The sheriff played a lot of cards close to his chest, which was wise, but it meant that some people wouldn’t understand why her family acted the way they did.

How could they understand, unless they knew the truth?

Victoria looked up at the house in front of her. She would never tell Derek Hale this in a million years, but she was glad that he had rebuilt it. It didn’t make up for what had happened, but it was a step in the right direction. It was a step in erasing the sins of Kate and Gerard. Victoria had no illusions that there was a bright line. On one side were the monsters and on the other side were the humans. When Kate and Gerard broke the rules, when they acted like monsters, that line became blurred. She hated blurred lines with a passion. 

Strangely enough, she didn’t have the same problem when monsters acted like humans. She didn’t pursue them for what they were but for what they did, for what they had to do. If they didn’t do those things, she wouldn’t pursue them. She would treat them as she treated the neighbor down the street.

That’s why she walked up to the front door of the Hale House like she was visiting the bachelor who lived down the street. She knocked on the door like she was knocking on the Clark’s door to ask about their sick child. She was not afraid to be walking into an alpha’s den.

Derek met her there. They would never like each other. “Alpha Hale, may I come in?” She looked him straight in the eyes; she would never be afraid of him.

“Yes, Matriarch.” He replied with insouciant formality and opened the door. 

To say the reception was chilly was an understatement. Of all of them, only Alan Deaton had any conception of why the Argents were necessary. To the wolves, they were the enemy; to the law, they were vigilantes. “I’m here, Sheriff, as you requested.”

The sheriff started to speak to explain what he had known what had happened. Victoria shook her head. “I already know what happened.” That did not win her any friends.

“Let me assure that this was not an operation approved by me.” She was the Argent Matriarch. “If I had approved such a mission, it certainly wouldn’t have happened in broad daylight on a street corner. We’re better than that. However, Chris witnessed the kidnapping and he’s following the van right now.”

This particular piece of news was met with exclamations, shouting, and one or two growls. Victoria stood in the center, ignoring it. When it calmed down, she countered, “What did you want him to do, start a gunfight down town? That’s now what we do.”

“You should have reported it to me,” snarled the Sheriff. 

“We knew it was witnessed, we knew it would be reported. We determined it would be better to get to the bottom of it then let it continue.” Victoria argued, serenely. “I’ve supplied Deputy Graeme with the license plate number.” 

“And you just happened to witness this,” Derek accused. “You were following him, weren’t you?”

“We’ve been following him since he’s been released,” Victoria answered. “Did you really think we wouldn’t? He’s a risk.”

“He’s a victim.” Alan Deaton protested quietly. Stiles flinched.

“Irrelevant. He’s a mentally unstable werewolf who has no family, no future, and who has killed before. Can any of you say that he’s completely overcome the ordeal _we_ put him through?” She met everyone’s eyes. The younger people in the room couldn’t answer, and the older people wouldn’t. “We’ll keep our word, Sheriff, but you can’t expect us to ignore your duty.”

“He’s not your concern.” Derek replied, evenly. “He’s mine.”

“Until he proves to us that he’s not going to snap and go on a killing spree, he is our concern. And since he’s just been kidnapped and is being driven out of state as we speak, we were right to be concerned.” Victoria. “I understand your position. That’s why I’m here. You need to understand mine.”

A shadow of rage crossed over Derek’s face, but he mastered it and pointed to a couch. “Have a seat. You have information we need, and you can control the situation much better from here than from your house.”

Victoria sat down without another word. The Hale Alpha was exhibiting signs of self-control, strategic thinking, and persuasiveness. He was becoming formidable. 

The sheriff glowered down at her. “Name me one good reason why we shouldn’t call the California Highway Patrol and have that van pulled over. You can give me its location, can’t you?”

Victoria looked up at him, undaunted. “I can, if you wish. On the other hand, you don’t think Scott’s being released is unconnected, do you?” She glanced around the room. No one who had an opinion did. 

“We’d be using him again,” muttered Deaton. 

“He’s being used whether we use him or not.” Victoria replied. “You can’t assure his safety until you know who is coming after him.” 

The reason that their alliance had worked out so far, Victoria felt, was that even those with generations of conflict and mistrust had common ground on which to meet. She saw the calculation in their eyes.

The sheriff offered a compromise. “Give me the location and direction now, and we’ll let the chips fall where they may.” He called in that the van was on Interstate 5, heading north. 

Time passed as they waited for reports from the police or Chris Argent. Patience was an old friend of Victoria’s, and she spent the time analyzing the people she was spending it with. While they were allies now, the day could come when they would not be.

She had already noted the changes that she had seen in Derek Hale. They hadn’t interacted much after the defeat of the Alpha Pack, though they had kept an eye on him. The intervening years had steadied him and given him the resources to think rather than just react. His pack, waiting in the living room, was varied and individual, but even she could sense how they took their cues from Derek. Contrary to what people might think, a stable non-violent pack was of little interest to her.

Alan Deaton had kept the same placid demeanor that he always had, but she could see the cracks in how he spoke and handled himself. What had been done – what they had done – to Scott McCall had damaged something in him, and he was pretending to be better. She wondered if that was why he had passed on the opportunity to be Derek’s Emissary to the Stilinski boy. She wondered if this event would be the thing that broke him.

The Stilinski were the real wild card in the room. The tension in the sheriff and his son was palpable and what was more, the highest degree of tension was saved for the interactions between them. Something had happened to upset their relationship. It seemed it was something quite recent. 

She became aware of one of Derek’s betas standing in front of her. His name was Vernon Boyd, she thought. “Would you like something to drink?” He asked her. 

“Thank you,” she answered. “Whatever’s convenient?” It was polite of him, and she should be polite in return. The beta known as Erica was angered but let it go. Stiles, on the other hand, was not in that type of mood. 

He sat down across from her. “So, kill any innocent werewolves recently?”

Victoria did not have to put up with a youngster’s sarcasm. “Not _recently_.” She enjoyed the look of disquiet on his face. 

“Why are you here to help us if you think Scott’s going to be dangerous? Wouldn’t you want to get him out of the way?” It was actually a pretty fair question.

“It’s about responsibility, Mr. Stilinski.” She replied archly. “Would it be easier to pretend he’s not my problem? To ignore him and let someone else handle him? Absolutely. But doing the right thing sometimes isn’t the easy thing. Most of the time it is not the easy thing.” 

The younger Stilinski scuttled away on his artificial leg like he had been burned. 

Time passed. Waiting was always the worst part of any situation. Eventually, the sheriff received a call. “Are you sure? That’s … okay. Thanks, Graeme. Keep up the good work.” He hung up and every eye in the room had turned to him. The sheriff bit his lip as if it puzzled him. “The license plate is registered to the Verdant Mountain Ski Resort and Casino in Mount Robson, British Columbia. Have any of you ever heard of it?” 

Immediately, Stiles is diving towards his laptop. Deaton and Derek shake their heads mystified. Victoria remembered the name and thought about it for a moment, before deciding to share what she knew. “It has come across my desk. I don’t have much information mind you, only that it is connected to a particularly violent pack.”

Isaac began with a confused look on his face. “Why would another pack ...? “ 

“That fucking son of a bitch!” Stiles exclaimed from where he sat at his computer. “I _cannot_ fucking believe this. That asshole!”

Derek moved first and bent over the screen. “That’s not possible!”

Victoria stood up and went over as the rest of them crowded around. She blinked when she saw it, because the website had the picture of the owner on it. It was Peter Hale. She took a step back, hit a contact, and put the phone to her ear. “Allison? We’ve found him.” 

 

DEREK HALE

The Canadian Rockies stirred something in Derek’s soul; he had seen mountains before, but there was something about the peaks surrounding them that comforted him. As he neared the end of the second leg of a twenty-mile drive, it was important for him to feel centered. They were only an hour or so away from the location of their intended confrontation; just two days before, he had discovered that his uncle was somehow alive and behind the kidnapping of Scott McCall. 

Derek wasn’t sure how he felt about this news. Everything was mixed together, and he was glad he had had the long drive to work through it. He was at peace with his intentions: he and his pack would go to that resort, rescue Scott, and go home. If he could do it without fighting his uncle, then he would be glad. It was unlikely; Peter could still harbor resentment over Derek killing him before. But that wasn’t his problem. All he wanted to do was bring his beta back. He would let others deal with Peter.

He had initially been angry with the Argents. The hunters had known after the conflict with the Alpha Pack that his uncle had somehow manage to resurrect himself using Lydia Martin and the alpha twins. They had concealed that information from him. He had been angry, furiously angry, at the deception until Victoria had wordlessly handed him her phone. 

It had been Allison’s decision. She had been witness to the end of that ritual, and she had persuaded her mother to keep the secret to themselves. When she had explained it to him, he found he couldn’t really be angry with her.

“I am going to be the Matriarch after my mother,” she had explained. Derek knew that his betas had heard it as well. “I’m going to make the decisions of life and death. I’ve chosen this because I believe it is worthwhile. I believe I can protect people from monsters like my aunt and your uncle. But you didn’t choose this life. You have a pack, and a home, and a life that doesn’t have to be steeped in blood. After everything _my_ family has done to you, I couldn’t ask you to kill a member of _your_ family a second time.”

He had never expect that sort of kindness from an Argent. 

Derek wasn’t going to throw that kindness in her face. He and the pack were going to go there and get Scott and then they were going to leave. The Argents would come, and when they came, Peter could deal with them. He deserved it. 

The pack had fallen in behind him, even though he had given them permission to stay out of it. None had chosen to do so, and his heart had swelled with pride. Even his Emissary had come, though it wasn’t the type of thing an emissary would normally do.

“I’m going,” Stiles had said flatly, and there had been no argument from Derek. His father had watched him from the across the room. “I’m providing support.” An unspoken conversation occurred between them, and no more words were said.

Leaving things unspoken was weird for Stiles. What was even weirder was that during almost the entire two-day trip, Stiles kept his conversations short and to the point. He wasn’t relaxed. He was tense. There was a level of anxiety, sure, but the stress that Derek picked up on wasn’t from fear. It was as if he was going through an internal debate.

Derek had come to trust Stiles’ insights into situations because the young man was very good at what he did – notice the things that didn’t quite fit right. He had also demonstrated a willingness to admit when he didn’t know something and the initiative to talk to Alan Deaton about it, even though not having the answer always put him in the foulest of moods. If there was anything more that Derek could have asked of him, it was for Stiles to recognize that he wouldn’t have accepted him as Emissary if he didn’t believe in him.

“Derek,” Stiles finally said. “Can I ask you a question?”

Derek nodded. He understood it was going to come out sooner or later and he was pretty curious.

“Do I control people?”

“Oh, yeah,” Derek answered. “Absolutely.” Stiles’ face fell. “Stiles, you basically badgered all the betas into riding in the SUV so you could be in the Camaro with me by yourself. You were relentless.” 

Stiles glanced back at the SUV following him. “I just wanted to talk to you alone.”

“You could have just _asked_ them that, Stiles. But you don’t ask. You push.” Derek shrugged, but he saw an opportunity. “And you get upset when someone tells you ‘no’ or doesn’t believe you, because you think it means they don’t care about you.” 

“So, you think I own people, too.” Stiles sounded bitter.

“Yes. You treat people as yours and you expect them to do as you say, so yes, you own people.” Derek tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, because it wasn’t to him. “And anytime something goes wrong, I try to make it my fault. And Boyd uses silence to keep people from getting too close to him. Erica overcompensates for just about everything, and Isaac pretends to indifference so he doesn’t seem needy. Your father jumps from yelling at you to spoiling you rotten. We all have flaws. That’s human nature.”

Stiles bit at his thumb. “So you think Scott is right.”

“No.” Derek turned to him. “I think he’s partly right. You didn’t visit him because you couldn’t handle what happened, but that meant, no matter how bad you felt, that you abandoned him. But I think he’s wrong that he’s no longer angry. I think he’s been angry with you for so long that he can’t remember what it was like not to be angry and he’s confusing that with how he feels about you normally. You were friends, and it was real. That doesn’t vanish. There’s more to you than your need to validate yourself through control of the people you care about, and he’s forgotten those things.” 

Stiles looked at him, questioningly. Derek nodded. “Anger can be like guilt.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “When the _hell_ did you get so wise?” 

“I didn’t. I just remembered what my mother was really like,” Derek said. “It’s been ten days. Do you want to have that friendship back? Give him time. Be there for him even if he doesn’t want you to be. Don’t push.” 

Stiles dropped into silence as the road peeled away underneath them. After another twenty minutes, he shook himself. “Are you really going to leave your uncle to the Argents?”

Derek nodded. “Yes. Stiles, you know what he’s done. You’re an Emissary; you know what kind of magic he’s used. And it’s been three years, and instead of letting me know he was alive, he started a werewolf assassination gang, if Victoria is to be believed. He’s not my uncle; he’s not pack.”

“Derek …” Stiles hesitated. “What’s the chance Lydia’s still alive?” 

Derek wanted to offer reassuring words but he just didn’t know. Peter had done so many things that Derek could never, ever conceived of him doing. “I don’t know.” 

“If she is … can I ask you a favor?” 

“Yes. If we can, we’ll rescue her as well.” Derek didn’t mind making that promise. He didn’t mind rescuing another person that Peter had destroyed. Both of them fell silent. It wouldn’t be long now.

Someone had spent a lot of time picking the exact perfect place for the resort. It was nestled between a peak of the Canadian Rockies and a placid lake. The ski resort-slash-casino had been designed to blend in with the local terrain, so it looked inviting and not garish. By the number of cars in the parking lot, it was pretty successful as well, even during the off-season.

Stiles whistled. “It’s bigger than it looked on the web page.” 

Derek agreed, grimly. “One more time. Cora, Stiles and I will go in and draw their attention. The three of you split up and try to pick up Scott by scent.”

“What if they recognize us?” Isaac asked. 

“Don’t fight. Return to me as fast as you can. Peter never saw you, so he shouldn’t know what you look like.” Derek tried to sound confident. “If you can’t, retreat to the woods and howl. Got it?”

Boyd, Isaac, and Erica nodded. They were going to wait while the other three drew Peter’s attention. 

The trio entered the lobby, moving at a pace slower than Stiles usually could reach. The idea was to give the impression of immobility and make Peter overconfident. Knowing his uncle, that wouldn’t be hard. They entered the huge casino room which had chandeliers and a large staircase that lead to the upper levels. It was dinner time, so there were few people in the casino proper.

Cora whistled at the opulence. “What the hell is Peter doing here? It’s his style, but … what’s the point?”

Derek couldn’t answer, because he agreed with her. Peter had always had a sense of flair and he certainly had enough money, but if all he wanted was a top-level resort, why provoke them? There had to be something beyond it.

“Power,” Stiles said from behind them. “It’s a display; he’s baring his teeth at the world. Just like revenge was really about power; no one does that to me. Just like what he did to Lydia and Scott was about power. Look at me. Look at what I can do.” 

“Accurate, Stiles,” Peter remarked with his lilting malice as he appeared from virtually nowhere, “but incomplete. It’s not just about having power; it’s about using power well.” He was flanked by two men who had guns pointed at them. “Hello, nephew. Hello, niece.” 

The Hales glared at each other. Cora’s face showed her disbelief and utter disgust. “You start out pointing guns at us?”

“An intruder alarm sounds, Cora, and suddenly there’s a strange pack in my den?” Peter clucked his tongue. “Of course I’m going to take precautions.” He flashed red eyes at them, and the two men beside him also flash their eyes. “My other wolves will handle your betas, Derek, and anyone else you may have brought with you.”

Derek stepped forward. “All we want is Scott. Let us take him, and we’ll leave and never come back.”

Peter stared at them for a moment and then burst out laughing. “I forgot how much of a gullible idiot you were, Derek. You finally track me down and it’s for some broken child I tossed away years ago? Does family mean nothing to you?”

Derek snarled. “We don’t know why you kidnapped him, and we don’t care. We don’t care about you either.”

Peter tried to hide it but that stung. Derek wondered why Peter was always so surprise when people held him accountable for his actions. “Derek, you simpleton. Why in the name of God would I kidnap Scott? To lure you here? I could have done that with a phone call.”

Stiles gasped as he figured it out. It shouldn’t have been that hard, now that he thought about it. Why kidnap someone in broad daylight with a license plate that would lead your pursuers right to your hidden fortress? Unless you wanted someone to come ready to fight. “Oh my god, I understand. He didn’t kidnap Scott.” 

“No,” said Lydia Martin, slowly and deliberately descending the staircase from the upper floors. Her dress was severe and menacing, but she was also coolly, terrifyingly beautiful. “And he doesn’t understand anything. But that’s because he’s a terrible person.” 

 

SCOTT MCCALL

The first thing that Scott became aware of when he regained consciousness – or more specifically woke from a drugged slumber – was that he was bound in chains. He could barely move, and he certainly couldn’t get any leverage. He had been sat unceremoniously in a chair against a wall. 

He must have made too much noise trying his bonds, because the woman sitting at a bank of monitors turned to him and said. “Good. You’re awake right on time.”

Scott felt his head clearing; werewolf healing was good for something at least. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“Name’s Braeden, and I’m doing this because I’ve been paid very well. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been told that it’s for your own good.” She pointed at a particular screen. “Look there. I’ll turn the volume up.”

They were in some sort of security booth. Over in the corner was an unconscious security guard; Scott could tell he was still alive because he could hear the man’s heartbeat. He only focused on the guard for a moment, because his attention was drawn the screen that Braeden had indicated. 

Emotions flooded through Scott. Terror for himself, because he saw Peter. Fear for people he cared about, because he saw Derek and Cora and Lydia Martin and Stiles! In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he must still care about Stiles on some level if he was this afraid for him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t go their aid, so he focused on the screen.

Over the monitor, Scott tensed as he heard Peter’s menacing yet somehow silky tones. “What do you think this is going to accomplish, Lydia?”

“I think it’s already accomplished a lot, Peter. I think that when I triggered some of the exterior alarms, two-thirds of your killer pack rushed outside and straight into an Argent ambush. Of the remaining wolves, most of them are busy with Derek’s three betas as they search for Scott – thank you for that distraction, Derek – leaving you only two wolves here. I needed you vulnerable.”

“You’re forgetting, my dear,” Peter snarled. “I’m an alpha.”

“And so is Derek,” Lydia replied, lightly, “but even with him, I can’t predict every move on the board. No offense, Derek, but knowing your ties to family, I couldn’t rely on you to do the right thing. Which is why my dear, _dear_ Peter, I’ve been saving up something special … just for you.”

Lydia opened her mouth and screamed. 

It was the loudest noise Scott had ever heard, and he was behind several walls in a sound-proof room. It shook the entire resort. Windows cracked in every room; silverware bounced on the tables it the dining room. Every single car alarm went off. It roared like the death of gods. 

Scott couldn’t plug his ears so he had to listen. He heard not only the noise but the feelings behind it; no one could help feel it what she meant; it was like she whispered to him woven into the tumult. She screamed for the victims of Peter’s revenge. She screamed for the victims of Gerard, and the Darach, and the Alpha Pack. She screamed for Aiden who wanted to change and Jackson who never got the chance. She screamed to remember them all. She screamed for herself and she screamed for him. But most of all, she screamed for Peter. 

Braeden took her hands off her ears. “Girl’s got a pair of lungs on her.” She turned to him. “That’s our cue. I need to unchain you and get you out there. You going to try to claw me or something like that?”

Scott shook his head. “What’s going on?”

Braeden laughed. “Hell if I know, but I’d bet my salary this is the endgame.” She unchained him and led him out through the security hallway and into the main casino. There was the sound of gunshots ahead and Braeden readied her shotgun. “Stay behind me.”

When they got out there, they realized there was nothing to fear. Lydia had just put several bullets from one of the werewolf assassin’s guns into the Peter and his two goons. “It won’t kill you, but it’ll keep you from causing trouble, Peter.” 

Suddenly, a single person burst in from the lobby, alarmed by the sound of gunfire. It was Allison, her hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in black military fatigues and carrying a tactical crossbow. She looked like she was fighting a war; she looked like a heroine from a movie with the faint scars on her face. _God_ , Scott thought, _she’s so beautiful_.

Every werewolf that had been at ground zero was on the floor and writhing. Scott had been protected, and his ears were still ringing. Stiles, still standing, was looking at Lydia with awe. “You planned all this just to defeat Peter?”

“No.” Lydia tossed her head. “Killing Peter wasn’t the point of this; it’s just a means to an end. I could have killed this idiot years ago, but it wouldn’t have meant one damned thing.” She looked up to see Braeden leading Scott to her. “I don’t need to kill Peter. You, Scott, _you_ need to kill Peter.”

Scott’s mouth fell open. “Me?”

Stiles reached down and grabbed Derek’s hand to try to help the moaning alpha up. “You want Scott to become an alpha.”

“All my life, I’ve understood the rules by which we live,” Lydia said with cold determination. “How to be a good daughter. How to be the popular girl. How to achieve success. How to have a good life. Those rules don’t apply to me anymore, because of _him_.”

Scott suddenly felt that he understood what he talked about. The way people talked about family, about friends, about planning for the future. It all seemed so pointless. “No, they don’t.” Scott and Lydia eyes met. She understood.

“As long as I play by those rules, I’m always going to lose. I’m always going to be the girl who was kidnapped and held by a madman. The crowd will always whisper ‘I wonder if he raped her’ or ‘I wonder if she went with him willingly?’ It doesn’t matter if I win five Fields Medals, I’m always going to be that girl who was taken. And you, Scott, no matter what you do, even if you spilled everyone’s secrets, even if you became the greatest hero anyone had ever seen, you’re always going to be the psycho Beast of Beacon Hills that murdered all those people with your bare hands.”

Scott couldn’t deny her that truth. No one could deny that it was the truth. He walked up to her and took her hand. It was shaking.

“We’re in prison, Scott.” Tears filled her eyes. “This monster took those rules and used them to turn _the entire world_ into a prison. We can’t ever leave.”

Scott looked down at Peter who had finally gained some focus, though he was in great pain from multiple bullet wounds. He couldn’t speak yet, but his eyes followed them. Scott looked down at him. It was true. It was all true.

“How … how … does this help?” Derek manage to gasp. 

Scott looked at the resort and the casino and the flashy clothes that Peter wore, now ruined, and the goons he had. It was like a bad movie script. It wasn’t like the real world at all. “I think I know.”

“Yes. I knew you’d get it, Scott.” Lydia turned on Peter. “This asshole was going to build himself a new world. A world where he was king, and no one could touch him. Rich, powerful, amoral. He could live his life and not care what anyone thought of him. So … we take it.”

Peter growled in the back of his throat. 

“We take it all. Scott, you and I take the world that he was building for himself and we make it _ours_. I already control his wealth. I already know everything he knows. But to control his people. To control his world, I need something that I cannot be.”

“You need an alpha,” Scott replied. “You need someone you can trust to lead his pack.”

“And why not you? I know what you gave up to save me. I can hear things no one else can hear; I know what he took from you. I know the potential he ruined as a fucking afterthought. I’ve heard your nightmares where Peter makes you kill again, where Derek makes you kill again, where you’re nothing but a slave to nameless red-eyed figures in the night. You don’t have to be afraid. No one commands an alpha. All you have to do is kill him.” Lydia’s voice was suddenly a plea.

“I don’t want to be a killer.” Scott protested, but it was only quietly. His eyes were locked on Peter’s defiant ones. 

“You already are, Scott,” Lydia said sadly. She let his hand go. “I know the color of your eyes, and I know what it means. We can be free of the prison he made for us. All you have to do is act. It’s the key that means he never gets to imprison us again; _the key that breaks the lock_.” 

Cora had managed to get to her feet. In the distance, Scott could hear gunfire of the fight outside. He could hear struggles in the hallways. The room seemed to spin. Cora looked at her brother and Stiles opened his mouth and stretched out his hand. Derek stopped them. Stoic. He wasn’t going to interfere; this was no longer his story. Allison stood in the doorway; she swallowed heavily with some nameless emotion. 

Scott took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. If everything was pointless, then so was this. But he could let himself feel, just once, feel what had always been there. “You took everything I had,” he said quietly, “and you didn’t even know who I was.” Scott took every bit of rage and anger and fear and disappointment. He took every night staring at the walls of that cold, bare room in Echo House. He took every awful visit with his parents where they looked at him like they were afraid he’d tear them apart. He took every day he spent wondering where Stiles was and why he didn’t love him anymore. He took the unbelievable, irreplaceable never-again-to-be-experienced feeling of walking with Allison in the woods for her birthday. He took the thousand dreams he had cherished that would never, ever happen, and he gave them all to the wolf. 

_And then he let the wolf go._

Scott was vaguely aware of the savagery of his attack, of the flesh parting beneath his claws, of the taste of blood in his throat. He was vaguely aware of Cora burying her head in Derek’s chest, of Stiles staggering back, of Allison covering her mouth with her hand. He was vaguely aware of Lydia, who did not move one inch, even when blood spattered across her clothes and face, as she contemplated the end she had envisioned. When he was done, there was nothing left of Peter but bone and blood and scattered flesh. 

Scott raised his head and looked around him. His eyes flared the same color as the blood that soaked him from head to toe. “I’m an alpha now.”

Lydia was by his side. The blood made her pale cheek shine like snow under moonlight. She extended her hand and he took it. “We have work to do.” 

“No,” came a voice. “Stop.” 

Scott was shocked by the need in the voice. He couldn’t move, even though his blood was surging with new found power. He should be able to just disregard it. He wasn’t that person’s friend. Not anymore. But he couldn’t move. “Stiles?”

“Come home.” Stiles voice was ragged. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “Just come home. You think you’re going to be free, but you won’t be. You’ll just be as lost as he was. You’ll just become him. Don’t give up on us. Don’t give up on me. I love you. I’ve loved you both for as long as I can remember, and I don’t even know you, Lydia.” He rubbed his face with his sleeve, scattering the tears. 

Scott’s eyes dropped to his own body, covered in blood and gore. “I don’t have a home.” Lydia’s hand squeezed his.

“You do.” Derek answered. “I don’t care if you’re an alpha. We’re brothers. We always will be.”

“Come home. I want you back. I want you both back,” Stiles wouldn’t let up. “I need you back. I need my best friend back. I need the girl I have a weird stalkery crush on back. I need something good to happen. Don’t give up on us as we gave up on you.” 

Lydia snapped. “This isn’t a fairytale, Stiles.”

“It could be.” Allison spoke from the back of the room. “You want to make a world, do that, but just don’t make it Peter’s. Make it a fairy tale. Make it a world where the princess is rescued from the ogre, where the prince’s curse is broken. I didn’t choose the life I did to see people I care for fall into darkness. I choose to save people. Let us save you.”

“Save me?” Scott spread his arms out so the blood could drip from his claws unto the floor. “This is what I am.” 

Stiles stepped forward and grabbed Scott’s hand. “I don’t care.”

Scott and Lydia of them looked at each other. Then they looked at Derek, Stiles and Allison – friends from a time long ago. Friends who wanted them back. 

“This is stupid,” Lydia snapped. “Tears and words don’t change anything. It doesn’t make anything right.” 

“It’s not supposed to make things right,” answered Derek. “It’s supposed to open the door so things can be made right.” 

Scott studied the changes on Lydia’s face. He knew this plan was far more hers than his. He could go back, but he couldn’t leave her. It was awkward; Stiles wouldn’t let go of his hand. “Do you really want to run an international crime ring?” 

“And the alternative? None of this sappiness fixes any problems. You’ll still be a crazy murderer and I’ll still be a victim. Going back won’t be easy at all.” Lydia looked furious.

“No,” Allison stated with authority. “It won’t.”

Scott tried to shake off Stiles hand; he tried to slide out of the grip, but all that did was make Stiles use the other hand. “I think they’re going to insist, Lydia.”

Emotional protests aside, Scott could see the future. There would be fights, and embarrassment, and agony. He’d have to figure out what he wanted to do and what he wanted to be. He’d have to help Lydia feel comfortable in her own skin again. He’d have to work out what Derek meant to him. He’d have to decide what Allison meant to him. He’d have to learn to trust Stiles again. But that wasn’t an end.

Lydia looked between them all and then snorted angrily. “Fine.” She gave him a scowl. “But I’m keeping the damn money.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, but I have finally reached the end of my first fanfiction. Tell me what you thought!


End file.
